A million thoughts in the mind.
When we were little, the stories we hear were beautiful.
The princesses were born beautiful, their dresses were beautiful, they lived in beautiful palaces, ran through beautiful pastures, meet beautiful princes, have beautiful weddings, live beautifully, happily, ever after.
Fast-forward twenty years.
Walking in the winter rain, hair disarray in the strong winds, dirty city train carriages, angry people swearing on the streets, trying to look for work, making ends meet, hoping what you know is enough to keep you alive, cigarette butts littered on the floor, the more devastating the news, the better it sells.
Am I stupid to always try to look for beauty in everything?
When you look, what do you see? What to you hope to find?
I hope for a better tomorrow. Cliché as it may sound.
Does that mean that I am a grown up now? Or am I too naive to hope for that?