How I feel: crushed
There it is -- the purple paper on the wall with his name on it. Date...time...it's set. Proudly. Why did I have to be the one to fail? I sit down in my seat and open my bag to get my book out...and there's mine. Blue paper with my name misspelled on it. Crumpled up, ripped off from the wall, with the date and time already passed. I didn't go through with it. Paper crumpled with wrinkles of like that of an old man, an old dream. What do I have left? What is there to be proud of?