I can't stop listening to the low hum of comprehension that this room makes.
I think I could live here among the worksheets and dusty bookshelves, if they would have me.
But I'm an insect, a blip on the radar.
I don't mean anything and I deserve that.
But I can't resist leaving question marks inside of your clenched fists.
I can't teach you to want me to teach you, but I would love to try.