"I don't care about much," I finally admitted. The room soaked in silence, my voice felt like an intruder. Stiffly sitting in his desk chair, he looked upset. I focused on the look of pity in his eyes.

There's still hope for him.
He is not gone like me. I see life when he cheers for his favorite sports teams. When he jokes about his appearance. When he intensely plays his video games. When he routinely goes to the gym. I see the life in him.

Where has my hope gone?

It eroded away in high school.

art, black, and feelings image
The final piece shattered that night...