Trying times can mean brash decisions. |
There was a time when things were good. We marched in time just like we should. But things became tense, and I lost my cool. Oh, it was an offense, and I looked like a fool. I cried like a baby over a futile rehearsal. That's when I thought maybe it wasn't worth staying at all. The whining and complaining was bothering me, and apathy and bad marching was all I could see. I then made some plans. In brisk tempo, I began to pursue them. However, in another's hands, I was restrained from them. On a free day, I was sent to his office to tell him I could no longer play and that I had to make a sacrifice. His interrogation slammed at the walls. I felt like I was being pried open like a shellfish. But I broke, and my sobs leaked into the halls as he declared me selfish. He said I was not well, that I needed assistance. I almost told him to go to hell, and the group's reputation was pretense. Soon, though, the tears subsided, but the pain remained. At rehearsal, I marched and debated to stay, as my patience was strained. Then there was one night when I stayed at home, plagued by my plight and left all alone. Reluctantly, I decided to stay. However, I'm wondering if what I did was right. I wonder because it's become hell, anyway, and all I've been doing is fight. I remember a day when things were good. Those days are now far away, and I'd bring them back if I could. To this very day, I feel strong regret. I know I should have left, but back then, I didn't know. The best part's to come, so I can't leave yet, but once it's done, I have to go. |