In the schoolhouse the rain keeps falling outside, and only the voice of a once sane lunatic inside fall on many deaf ears. When numbers in chairs are just eyes on mouthless faces, and everyone seems to talk to their illuminated screen. How can we matter if we’re not around. The isolated voice shouts. It commands and demands attention across a digital sea to eyes far away. Does it even remember a time before the rain?

When friends are divided and 6 feet apart feels like 6 miles. When the voice of knowledge is condemned to grant wisdom to squares rather than flesh. How can we matter if we’re not around.