The child in me screams it's full of lies, filth. The adult in me comforts, "read, watch and think like a grown up." The adult's visit is comparable to the sun during winter.
It's a shame. I'm in denial, running away from it as not to create pain in my head, refusing to dig and sort and detangle. It's easier to just indulge in world full of colours, superficial beauty, passive readings, mindless music.
I've talked and argued. With skimpy pov, merely opinionated, backed up with insubstantial substance. That's the most politic-warrior act I've ever been
I thought that would be enough. I'm still tender, lets not spoil my life. Till I met those young minds.
She might look like another carefree urbanite yet she's capable of mouthing matured talks. She didn't have to, I didn't ask her but she wrote about her observation of the authority vs people's interest.
He has started early. Reading, thinking, talking politics and society when at such age, my world was filled with Britney and the likes.
They are a lot younger than me, they are students. I'm 26, I teach. And that's a slap that leaves sorely red marks
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