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The desk


             Nothing about it is for any reason out of place. Papers that have been accumulated of the months lay in a neat pile next to my books. My books are lined in height order, with the big schoolbooks on the far left and the smaller fantasy books on the right. My bulletin board portrays schedules and instructions and nothing more. My life is only that, things I must do and thing I wish I could do. Wants and emotional desires have been eliminated to make room for everything else. There is no more caring, as if someone who I cared about could feel the same towards me. Trust has been gone even before the caring, done before it could be broken. When I look at my roommate's desk I see the exact opposite. It is full of pictures of his girlfriend and friends that he cares about. It has jokes hanging on the cork board and random items discarded on the tabletop. A stereo and a printer with a smile face on it are above the bookshelf and the only books visible are crisp new textbooks that look as if they have never been used. He has emotion and passions that I could only dream of having. He has an understanding that doesn't require textbooks to receive. Somehow I know that I will never be able to accomplish the things in my fantasy books, not because it is fantasy, but because I could never have the maturity to understand how to accomplish. My love for others is clouded by mistrust and jealousy of others. Even those who I deeply love I become angry with when I can not be with them or if they talk of another. No matter how much I try the anger is always making act foolishly towards them. Then all I can do is say I am sorry. No one will ever understand my true intentions as I use them.
            


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