The break bell rings
and itʼs time to enter into the second half of the day
a groan of disapproval hums in response.
A herd of young frivolous minds
bustle past each other,
through the narrow dimly lit corridors
like cattle, driven to their destination with a stick,
with which they measure aptitude.

there was always one window
that opened in from the receptionist office,
it would stick out like a sore thumb
obstructing the path of the already narrow corridor.
You had to watch where you were going,
You couldnʼt walk aimlessly,
or you would bump your head against it.
but thatʼs exactly the w ay I would walk in school
so the window was always like a reminder for me,
it made me wake up, it was like a reality check
it made me careful
It let me see where I was going
It was a wall of glass
where the light would set on it impeccably,
in accordance with the second half of the school day
casting hollow reflections of the passer byers.
When I would stare through it I felt like a porous version of myself,
as if my body had small cavities through which my soul had poured out,
Separate and desolate,
leaving a hollow memory of who I was.
The way I might appear in the mind
of someone who knows how I look
but does not know who I am.

I felt like I am the way the future wants me to be,
like a hologram of myself
being molded out of light
that does not run
on the same frequency as me.
Through the thin frame of grey
that bordered the window,
the color of neither black or white
a transitional color, ʻinbetweener.ʼ
it composed my thoughts perfectly
and as I could see the other children pass through me
I realized, I can not let myself
Become a day in the life of someone else.

--  Mariam Paracha​