seven years

i was sitting on the bus on the way to a history field trip this morning, and i got a blinding migraine. the whole journey i never talked to a single person, and not a single person talked to me.
perhaps i'm invisible again.
all i could hear the whole journey was everyone squealing and laughing and joking and having fun. they make a distinct noise - a jabbering, like they're saying "jabber" over and over and over and over again. every single person on that bus was jabbering away like one of those 'Jabberboxes' you used to be able to buy that made a 'jabber' noise when its neck bent forward. they used to drive me mad.
and while the bus drove happily on its way to Finchale Priory, i watched out the window as we drove past people, buildings, houses, farms, trees, hay bales. despite the stabbing pain that felt like a knife lodged diagonally through my skull, i managed to remember how it was this time of year back where i used to live.
i remember stepping out of the secret door at the far end of my back garden, and being faced with fields upon fields of new hay bales. i remember playing in those fields with my friends - pretending the scarecrow man was alive, games of hide and seeks behind all those hay bales, eating jam sandwiches in the shade. everything was golden and fresh and pure and new.
then when i was eight they built three new estates on all of that land.
i snapped out of my flash from the past and got off the bus to learn some history - yeah.
when i look back i wish that my seventh birthday was my last. nothing had ever been better than being seven years old with no responsibilty, no worries, no pressure. i had an unlimited supply of energy.
where did all that go?
everything was possible back then.
now all the future does is just loom ahead - another piece of coursework to ignore, another exam to fail.
and no one gives a shit.