Bon monsieur

Until middle school, I truly realized how blessed was that to have someone care both to teach you and to raise you. Only I was scared by the way they “raise” people prior to my middle school.

When was that a good teacher that once brought me attention?

It must be too long ago, none should recall any memory from those dark ages.

And it’s dark for reason.

Might makes right. Has it been right since ancient time, that it makes things alright.

Was that? perhaps for them, but never for whom that takes things in silence. Subtle souls.

It doesn’t matter if it’s fair, since they are masters and are always right. Kids are ought to listen.

I asked if that has some alternative meanings, they said that’s for our own good.

Perhaps that really was, but those souls could never understand such manner, even years after.

The pang of fire brought descending from duo rulers tied together to the little palms of a child.

Should that really be out of kindness? More like an abuse or demonstration of power, or an expression of fury that they resorted to students, when one could see grudge and hate in their eye.

Overwhelmed, despite noble or hostile all those meanings were overwhelmed by the sting from their whip, the very way kids perceive, the impression of education. Even after all these years, all I remember was the hate in their eyes and the swing of rulers.

But am I to seek repentance from them even after all the years when they no longer carry on this, whereas nowadays kid are likely made of radioactive wastes?

I have no idea.

Kids are always subtle, but they know, and keep quiet. Only we wretched adults don’t.

There went my subtle soul.

Those could never find but encounter, and unlikely to keep. Should there be one or two masters like this in my life of schooling, and just like him, never stay long.

Recently, I stopped writting.

Gonna hate the redundancy of data in my head and it’s time to organize bit about it.

How did I use to deal with it? put it down a paper? Not efficient.

Leaving something not up to use but not to forget.

Been trying to adjust these promiscuous snaps in my head but just ended up in the argument of reason and logic with self.

However does it have to make sense at last? If its nature doesn’t attribute to that way, why compel what they call magic, miracle to produce sense?

For all this time had she just been in my mind? Everything about her mind and mine. something only I recognize, in the form of notion I created.

If it is the case should I as well be the creation of someone, someone’s rendition of me, someone’s character in a different script?

Have I been trying to leave her in the text but this one just turns up against me so badly.

Perhaps this one works better than keyboard and pens.