shaydabayda
The canteen. White walls, stuck up people. I sit here, by myself, everyday. Watching. Listening. They pass by. They don't look twice. But I stare and I wonder, why am I here? With people that don't know me. I want to dream. I want to live. I don't like the canteen. I want to see more than white walls, I want to see green grass and blue skies, and look into kind eyes. I want to be free.