Wake up, little girl.

"Let go", they say.
"Those silly ideals, those high hopes. You were brainwashed for so many years. Now you see how the world really is. It's wonderful here- we promise."

No. Nonononono.
Not right now.

What-ifs and regrets and those silly ideals and high hopes. Let me choke for a little while longer on them. I'm not ready to face a reality made of crisp, green paper and plastic faces yet. She didn't have to accept it. Nor did she.
I'm not old enough to find as much injustice as I have.


Maybe those were silly ideals and high hopes and great expectations.
Maybe they were beliefs founded on empty shells, on visions of romance, on prestige and infinite knowledge, on anticipations of nightlife in the city and a thriving youth,

on a desire to go far, far away from this tiny, smothering town in the middle of nowhere,
to go somewhere I could release my mind, finally.


But those silly ideals were still mine for 12 whole years.
I'm not that old, but even I know that
12 years holds a lot to let go of.