Can sad adolescents develop into their happy adulthood? Because I'm only seventeen, and I was wondering if images will all stop turning, would stop cascading and bumping into each other like heavy bowling pins falling one on top of the other. Falling, and falling until they could finally display me a clear image of something. Of anything. No crack in the middle frame starting from the bottom and making its crooked way to the top. There's no one in the frame of the picture in the family room. Its just a white canvas with 99 cent gold embroidery filling out the frame of it. It's on the wall, and people ask why it's on the wall, and what the point of it being on the wall is. "Why is it on the wall? It's white, and blank? It's just a reflection of the wall behind it." But it's not a reflection of the wall because it speaks more 'me' than any potrait of my rocky-bone nose or the artificial glimmer in my tar-colored eyes. Will the crack in the middle stop vibrating eventually? Because now that I've become aware of it, it won't stop. It won't stop, and it won't stop. So I'll ask: am I stuck in between this abyss of white paper, of seeing everything that passes outside my musty border, everything that smells sweet like warm-tempered vanilla, but looks forged and ignorant? Should I consider myself blue ashes to blow on? Or can sad adolescents develop into their happy adulthood?