Every moment i perch myself upon that plastic seat,

i wait.

Every time the sting of feelings prick my eyes,

i wait.

Every sound that occurs to my ears,

i wait.

Waiting, it is not that bad...it is calming.

It is resting,

It is listening,

It is feeling,

It is revealing,

Every small detail and aspect.

I wait,

I skinned my knee...my mother kisses it better but, it is relentless,

The sting of feelings and of the scar.

I wait for it to end. 

I become restless as i lay by myself in my mind, the silence is luering but not sucessful,

I wait for rest to wash me over.

The class is silent, my pencil finally halts, my hands rest against the cold surface,

I wait for the bell to release me.

I wait, and... I wait.

It is a virtue.