Amber threads of silk surround me and cling to my clothes, as I reach for more of them with my right hand and shove my face into my left, as if to protect my brain from the daggers being jabbed into my amygdala by essays, reports, and the ever-looming threat of exams that promise to ruin my life should I pen a comma out of place. I want to stop and maybe persue that which I have learned has a lovely chemical property of reacting with tears to create endorphins, but there is no place for emotion in a system rife with sciences and maths and that spits on beauty. Although I have long studied the properties of tears, I have not done the same to my brain in ways that don't pertain to its anatomy, and thus the liquid seeps from my eyes inadvertently, smudging the word pleurer while I continue to conjugate my group one verbs.