You see things that I've only read in books.

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Processed tree pulp bundled into sheaves of important-looking documents for important-looking individuals - they call themselves adults, I suppose I respect that now. The faces that come through the doors and voices that transmute over black phones with curly cords lend their identities to a pen and the hand behind it. And they become just another case of 'unreasonable behaviour' and another yellow file sleeve in a shelf. Boys and girls, don't be fooled by the pink and fluff TV tries to sketch you; (much of) the world is wretched.
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Perception - that's what experience gives you. Sigh, why can't people get better. Why can't love be forever and why can't it always make things better.

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