This is for the kids who like themselves and aren’t like themselves, who have lost themselves a million times and never once found themselves, and who don’t know themselves but are themselves. This is for the kids who have no direction in life, who are going their own way not knowing where it will lead them, and who will get exactly where they’re going to be.
This is for the kids who don’t care about school, who strive to get good grades, and who just need somewhere to go.
This is for the kids who can’t relate to anything—songs, movies, books, nothing—and are bothered by that, who are incapable of understanding people, and who are incapable of being understood.
This is for the kids who are scared to grow up, who are trapped in the cage of a child, and who yearn to break out and hesitantly step foot onto this great big scary world.
This is for the kids who are young at heart, who have matured over the years and lost their innocence, and who still look up at the sky while swaying like pendulums at the park. This is for the kids who love their parents but can’t talk to them, who yell and scream and rebel, and who feel guilty about it at the end of the day and don’t have the pride to apologize.
This is for the kids who make wishes at eleven eleven, on eyelashes, and on shooting stars; who know it won’t come true but still can’t shake off their hopelessly hopeful hope; and who can no longer make wishes at all.
This is for the kids who like to cry alone, who are too easily moved and touched by the world, and who can’t move and touch anyone themselves.
This is for the kids who are made by their habits and not the other way around, who run on momentum and keep going with inertia, and who crash into themselves in the end.
This is for the kids who like the taste of tears, who pour out their souls just to drink it all in again, never sharing the beauty of it with anyone, and who cry when they’re happy.
This is for the kids who have insomnia and lay in bed thinking mostly mundane things, who have dreams where they cannot move or scream, and who wake up frightened by their own self and with baggy eyes.
This is for the kids who are pacifists in nature, who are troubled and saddened by wars, and who don’t believe in world peace.
This is for the kids who live but die, who fail but try, and who tell the truth but believe in lies. This is for the kids who are kids, who aren’t just kidding, and who can’t kid themselves.
This is for the kids who aren’t really kids.
This is for your mother and father, your brothers and sisters, and your cousins and grandparents.
This is for their mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, and cousins and grandparents, too.
This is for your friends, teachers, and heroes.
This is for everyone you’ve ever and never met.
This is for you.
—
Read the original in the anthology and loved it c:
