Sleep, little one, hide in your dreams, and when you wake up, I will be here, I will be sitting by your bedside, with a plate of pancakes with a smiley face drawn out of burnt bacon and undercooked eggs, telling you that it's going to be a good day, no matter what happens, and then we'll turn up the music so the neighbors can hear and the world's silence is broken.

My dreams are only as sweet as reality, which tastes like a bitter stab in my tongue.  It is not pleasant, nor decent, or even remotely good.  I will still wake up to the government corrupting society, and people yelling at me when I have done nothing, to another school day with immature classmates, and foolish teachers.  I cannot dance, nor will I try to.

Stand, my friend, stand up and give me your hands, sway to the music and move to the flow, it is not so hard.  The government is ever changing, and laugh at those less mature than you, it merely means you are becoming what they are not, ignore your teachers for they are for one year only, and you will have new ones all the time.  Move your feet, it's easier than you think.

I do not want to keep smiling.  That is all I ever do, go to bed crying and wake up with a smile plastered to my face, because no one has sympathy for one who is depressed around others, even if that person is not seeking sympathy, or even wants it.  I do not want to see my friends living their proud, happy lives, when mine is getting worse.  I can move my feet, but it looks silly.

That is alright, smile today, but cry tonight, then smile again tomorrow, for life is not a depressing thing, but something to be enjoyed.  Laugh, little one, joke, have fun with what you have, make having a bad life a blessing, not a curse, do not seek sympathy, do not say you don't want it either, if they give you any, laugh and tell them you don't need it.  Dance, little one, dance like you know how, even if you don't.