The twitter of sparrows from the higher branches of the mast tree sounded like muffled cries. And in that particular moment, he opened his eyes, battering his eyelids for the sun was up and rising. He was late. Late by three-quarters. And that meant he’d miss his routine bus. He felt groggy and exclaimed to himself how wretched life was.
And to make matters worse, the bumpy bus ride was to be followed by six hours of academic time, six exhausting and tiresome hours, with people who were as distinct from him as they were hostile. But that didn’t deter him. What deterred him were the needless confrontations, what deterred him were his classmates- engaged in a mindless game; what deterred him was the sheer dullness of the place and the subjects he was taught- which he termed ‘In two words: uninteresting and soulless’.
A couple of full-moons ago, he was nurturing a hopeless dream of pursuing a different course, offered by a different institute, in a different city under a different Sun. But he was talked into believing that his dreams were merely laughable fantasies and that his aspirations resembled a soap-bubble and that future was as harsh as the present, only more yielding, if anything. Or less certain. And he listened. To everyone. He listened more than he talked. His shoulders had drooped of late and it seemed as if he had lost all ambitions, that the only thing he nurtured now was a secret sorrow.But he was trudging through life, anyhow, and if I go on to think about it, that is all that weighs.
I will blow the gaff on his journey and give you insights into his deceptively dull life with frequent posts and sometimes merely relay his diary entry, for (this should strictly remain between the two of us) I have seamless access to it. And as long as you don’t invoke this vital piece of information in his presence, he has no way of knowing it.
The Great Perhaps 
Grt written my dear friend , just loved it….why i think that somehow resembles with you…though not completely..haha..but at some point yes.