I want to tell the kids that life will be better someday. I want to tell them that their lives aren’t as bad as they think it is—that maybe it could be a lot worse. I want to tell them that with their age comes a resilience: the ability to endure so much pain and still stand strong. It’s funny, I’m always tempted to stop someone on the street and tell them these ideas, these beliefs, but I never do. I know they won’t believe me anyway. So I stop thinking about it; stop wanting to protect everyone’s innocence. I let everything drop from my mind and I continue down my normal routine, or whatever it is I’m doing that day. See, I want the kids to know that life gets better one day, but I don’t think they learn that until they learn to let go.