He isn't necessarily not trying, either. He's not living, or thriving, or compromising.
He is simply existing.
He's sitting in the back row wondering if anyone will turn around. Even if it's to reach into their bag hanging on the back of their chair, or to check the time on the clock on the back wall. He wonders if anyone will turn around, and for a split second glance his direction, make eye contact.
"God. I hope not." He begs the universe to prevent it.
And it does. No one turns around. Not even an impatient glimpse at the hour.
He slouches down in his seat, floating further and further away from the inaudible murmuring coming from the front of the room. He can't keep from leaving; he isn't even trying.
"May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing in Your sight O Lord, my Rock and my Redeemer."
Psalm 19:14
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