Boston

I had a breakdown in the middle of art class. And I had reasons.

As you know, Janet passed away on March 27, the first person close to me ever to die.
I have so many secrets it hurts.
The science fair due date is in a week.
I just got a bite plate and now I am lisping. And my teeth hurt.
I lost my script for a play that's in two weeks.
I just learned how Al Qaeda was started.
I hate my art teacher; he insults us and our art, tells us things that aren't true, and yells at us every class, for no apparent reason. He gave us a test today, and one of the questions directly contradicted what he had taught. His reasoning? We would learn the "exception to the rule" later that class. (This was what sparked the meltdown.)

And you, Boston, I cannot fathom what has happened on your now painted red streets. Not patriotically, not in favor of those wretched Red Sox. With the blood of the steadfast and strong. We'll never know if they were brave. They took no risks. This has happened to you with sudden speed. We are in uproar. I have family there, my favorite teacher. Nothing compared to the family of the gone, and the family of the city. The safest city to run your course in has been contradicted.

Even if I have a Boston reader, there is most certainly too much on their mind to respond now. To read. But I love you. I'm sorry I had a meltdown. It was in spite.