The feeling of despair sounds like the puttering of an old car’s engine, begging for an end with every gargle.

The sound of this car engine looks light gray, not dark gray like the expanse of boredom, but like light gray as though it’s disguising its true feelings.

To admit one’s true feelings is to reach for and touch a hard, sandy seashell at the beach, only to find it is actually the shell of a meek, lonely crab. 

To say a crab is red is rather untrue, for a crab is a blonde, yellow similar to the hair of a new kid, waiting with his oversized backpack at the school bus stop. 

When this kid sits alone on the bus and hears the other kid’s whispers, it is the feeling of despair he feels, as the bus engine sputters on.