We could've

It's hard those final words that mark the beginning. Harder still, those that mark the ending. We decided to cut our time short. Yet, we're still finding ourselves completing useless essays and irrelevant homework. All for the sake of leaving nothing to be said or done. We know what tomorrow brings, but for now we're content with these simple tasks. They provide....relief of sorts. A sense of accomplishment. Gone in seconds, true, but valuable. There was once a little boy who was promised the world, only to find himself crushed by its weight and everything that surrounds him. There was once a little man, who was no king by any means, but he did deny and angry the gods. One day he found himself rolling that same boulder up that mythic hill over and over again. Day in and day. Camus claimed we should've imagined this little kind, this little man, a happy man. I claim otherwise, but I am nothing. Nothing I'll become. Once again. Said it once, the reward for not believing in the gods is the simple thought that they don't believe in you. Happy is the man with a purpose. A goal. Even in the afterlife. Happy is the king who is doomed to repeat the same task ad aetermun according to a very handsome french philosopher. 

There was once a little boy who believed in himself. No more.