What It Takes
Enjolras leaned his head against the window beside his seat and stared out at the buildings of Paris as they faded from his view. “Is it bad that I want to leave?” He asked Combeferre, who was driving.
“No, Enjolras, it’s not.” Combeferre answered, in a reassuring voice.
“I don’t want to leave forever, I love Paris, I just …” Enjolras sighed as the final buildings of the city disappeared from his sight, “Recently I’ve felt so angry and unhappy when I’m there and I don’t want that to be a permanent thing.”
“I know.” Combeferre said, “I don’t want it to be a permanent thing for you either.”
“And it’s not like the normal kind of anger,” Enjolras continued. “I’m usually angry about the state of the government and what is happening to the people but now … I don’t know what I’m angry at.”
Combeferre glanced at Enjolras. “You are probably more angry with yourself rather than with the people who you have a true cause to be angry with.”
Enjolras sighed and pulled the hood of his red hoodie over his head. “I hate feelings.”
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Im just gonna cry Ok?
