Eva
School, students, hallways, classmates talking about their homework; complaining about what their mother said, or about who had the shitty sandwiches at the cafeteria or will there be a history test next week.
I am walking towards my classroom. Everything’s the same, yet it’s not.
It is because those are the same faces I’ve been seeing for so long, that I know what each is talking about without even me trying to listen.
It isn’t, because I feel different. It is not because of the tattoo, or everything that happened in the past days.
I feel like, and it’s that perfect feeling, of not having to explain anything to anyone. It’s the absence of a need to try and make yourself clear to others. Because it doesn’t matter who does or doesn’t understand, as long as you know yourself. Th
