In my early years, my journal and I had a very special, very sacred bond. We went to school together, we laughed together, we cried together, and sometimes we just stared at each other blankly, waiting for the other to speak.
Do you see the girl in that picture above? She doesn't look like she talks the way that title reads. And sometimes she doesn't. Sometimes she gotta switch it up for work, school, for "other" people, and environments.
It’s a manipulation. Children are supposed to believe that things will always end perfectly and that even when things are bad they could be worst, to make one believe that their situation isn’t bad at all. This type of thinking makes issues appear meaningless and futile.
Either it was funny to view life through the tiny lenses of their devices, or they knew something I didn't know as I entered through the train doors. I plop into the nearest seat.