He looked so helpless, so lost. The desire to simply get up, walk to the back of the room, and wrap my arms around him was like a Burning pit of fire in my stomach. He kept tugging on his shirt sleeves, and I looked at him sympathetically because I knew. I understood what he was going
through. Everyday, I go through the same thing. He didn't deserve it in the least.

He no longer smiles at all. Except for a brief "hello" at the start of the class, he doesn't say anything to his friends. He was utterly depressing, and I despised him for it. It breaks my heart to see someone who was once so happy, so full of life, be so quiet and broken-looking. He didn't need this shit piling up on his already overworked shoulders.

I scribbled some random quotes in my journal and then started writing about him again, as if he were my newfound muse.

"There once was a boy
Who sat in the back of my last

period class.
He only wears long shirts,
He always looks sad.
I think he's beautiful."

I actually had some confidence and bravery when the bell rang, so I went up to him. "Are you alright?" I questioned.

"Yeah". He said looking down and whispered quietly. "I'm fine."

"Fine is never okay." I remarked.

"How do you know I'm upset?"

"No one wears long sleeve shirts in April except for me, and I know what I do to myself."

And with that I exited the room, leaving a bewildered boy behind me.