One should never be fourteen, the unique age of the numb. Feel the horrible softening and hardening that squeezes your soul. Obey your parents without ceasing as they nag with chores and rules. And if at some time on the steps of exhaustion, in the untidy hope of excitement, in the bleak half-term of your room you wake up where breakfast is toil. Hate all that which triumphs, all that which screams, all that which hormones drive unruly. Challenge your parents’ constriction. Rage emotions with argument reply. You are the victim of tedium and your friends are the wind of confusion. You are the freedom, the future and sleep without opposition.
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