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The war has been won

8 years of depression is over

But battles are still waged

All because of loneliness

Loneliness

Loneliness from a longing for friends?
Loneliness from a longing for someone to love?

I’m not even sure at this point.

The world does though

And it plays with me at every waking moment.

It teases me with every step I take.

Friends.

Can I even consider you a friend?

Do you even care about me?

Of the people that deserve the title of “friend,” I don’t have a lot of those

Especially at school.

But I’ve got Sophie and Ben

They are friends

But everyone else just seems to be someone I hang out with or pass by.

My heart.

My heart feels a longing for someone to love

But I am in no place for that right now

But the world is tormenting me

It has been for years.

I’ve grown up through my life having several people I’ve grown to like

What you might deem as a “crush.”

I used to be a very open person

But I changed.

I would confess my feelings for the girl

But that turned to people bullying me.

I just feel the words claw at me…

No girl could ever like a fat guy like you.

Heh…

Maybe they’re right

But I am trying to focus on the light of life

I am trying to focus on my education

But…

At the end of the day

After all of the mess I face

After all of the trying work I give

It is just me.

Plain old Tyson.

by

Tyson Coles

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Heat, he thinks, is highly overrated. Candles and fireplaces, he couldn't care less. No, what he wants is cold. The crisp air, icy wind, and freezing blizzards are all he needs. Now, in a vast sea of cedar trees and snow, there is no sound. Silence, the air is deathly still. It is as if the creatures that dwell here fear the thought of breaking this blanket of tranquility. Gliding between shadows he goes unseen, unheard. A shroud of snowflakes covers his tracks as he goes. Solitude, he is alone, here there's nothing to distract him. No boustrous voices, blaring lights, ear-splitting horns. They know he's here, waiting, watching. But no one comes for him. The freezing cold is freedom. The freezing cold is joy. Ecstasy is all he feels as rough pine needles brush past his arm and frigid flakes drift into his hair. Silence, solitude. Contentment. And then through the trees a voice shatters the stillness. “Come on kid”, it shouts, “time to head home.” Yes. Cold, he thinks, is severely underrated.

by

Miranda Smith

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curated by the Lipscomb Academy yearbook mizpah staff

student editor in chief : Mary Jane Estes

faculty advisor : Erin Rickelton

Lipscomb Academy

https://www.lipscomb.edu/academy