Blue Hair

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. The chicks, the nerds, the gorillas from the hockey team, the funny clowns- they are all the same, The difference is- I don’t care about either of them.

I open the door and head for my seat.

“Sorry I’