Stan The Boy Who Dosent Under Stand Courage

around is his room and waited. his light blue sky walls reflected off his glossy eyes as his head rested on his folded arms. every day Stan would lie on his bed and wait. most days the boy would have to get up and meet the world with a smile on his face and a cup of eagerness in hand, regardless of how sour the taste. but the out come would always be the same, Stan from sun up to sun down would always make his way back to the pillows and blankets and continue to wait. people would ask the boy, "what dose your life amount too?" the only sense able response he could ever find was his work. but what dose a boy need with his work? time would pass and the norm would never change, the boy just continued to wait. opportunity continued have there feet in the door many a time, but the boy continued to slam it close. try as he might Stan could never seem to find what he was waiting for. people told him what he was doing wrong and he even knew how to do it right. but people would continue to ask as the boys head lay buried in his arms. "why do you do the things you do why do you think the way you think?" and every time Stan would lift his head and gaze directly into both there eyes, and they same words would dribble out his mouth like a crack in a pitcher of cold ice water. "What a person says and what a person truly means are two different things. look deeply into there eyes and ask your self not what the incoherent dribble spews from there lips, but what words there heart speaks. the one who makes you feel the things you want to say not the one who forces you to speak are not the same. regardless of the of the spiders that crawl up your skin or the rocks in your stomach, ask your self; do you think its worth waiting for?