You are sitting on the hot concrete of a place that will be considered sacred to you in the near future. You look up from what you are doing, and you notice this completely eerie, yet beautiful, silence. Your peers playing—civilized. A moment to cherish. Something so celestial, it takes up a capacious space in your brain. A memory—a memory to be held forever in the least spacious, yet somehow most spacious part of the mind so that it holds some superiority to the rest of your memories. A seemingly unimportant moment, a seemingly imperfect moment...

You look down from the cooperating classmates—onto the concrete. You place your hand on it. It burns. But it is a pleasant sort of warmth, one that would have been excruciating if not for the current circumstances. And then you look down the hall, expecting to see someone walking there, with a knowing smile on your face. You stare for a very long while, and then you look down again, and the process starts over, each time the events repeating, unchanged—unscathed. A seemingly perfect moment shattered, a seemingly pleasant moment taken away from you, because that person refused to walk down the hall. To show himself. To unmask his face. To reveal his secrets. Because he's too afraid of what you will think when he shares a secret much too vast for you or anyone else to understand. An almost perfect moment ruined, all because of thought. Because of what he thinks will happen, what he knows will happen. But is it the same thing to know and to believe? Do you believe what you know? Do you ever question your very sensible knowledge until it is so nonsensical that it hurts the most important part of your brain? But knowledge does not ruin the part of your brain in which you hold that precious memory—it is not harmed by mere insanity. And that is why you hold that strange moment in which nothing particularly out of the ordinary happens so very near to your heart. Because when you have gone completely mad, you will remember that moment of normalcy. And then you will remember waiting for the most important person in your life to walk by—and now the "most important" part of your brain will no longer matter. Because you remember the most important person in your life. And somehow, this person makes you forget your priorities. Your mind does not matter. Mind and knowledge and sense are nothing compared to what you feel. A completely reckless, non-celestial feeling in your heart that you will never be able to express because of a mere hindrance near the border of your mind: fear. You fear what this person will think. What if they hate me? What if they don't understand? And worse, what if they do??? I'm so confused, it hurts. But not my brain—my heart. It hurts because I know that I should say something to you, and I will never, ever, be able to. I will never tell you anything because fear rules my heart. And it always will. And this realization—this seemingly perfect/ imperfect moment will never matter. Because I will never tell you anyway. Never.