imagine a world where feelings are kept hidden behind closed doors at all times.
there is no personal literature, or poetry. there is no music. there is no art. creativity has died, or at least been trapped inside every person on earth, begging desperately to get out. it never will. the playlist you once made to listen to every morning while you get ready is nonexistent, and you prepare for school in silence, alone with your unexpressed thoughts. the beautiful cultural mural you’ve always admired on the wall of the Spanish hallway is now completely blank – nothing but blocks of white cement. your old favorite songs – the ones that used to play on repeat in your head for hours at a time – have flown from your brain. you will never get them back. you will never hear them again. your journals are blank, where they used to be filled with poetry and prose that came straight from your heart. you have withdrawals. you miss reading the spilled ink your friends uploaded so long ago on writing apps. your clothes are dull. your appearance is bland. your mind buzzes but you cannot speak. you go through a school day collecting facts and information, and you are miserable. even your fourth period art class has been changed to an extra math credit, and you can’t even complain about it. that would be a form of expressing your feelings. everything is quiet, and hard, and cold. but you can’t say that, of course. you can’t say anything.