You were lost, my little boy. How could a lost child not feel lonely? A lost child in a big city all by himself. Your tears landed on your little face, then on your little hands.
"How can a little boy cry?" the big boy said, "You’re a boy! Boys don’t cry! Stand up! Let me take you home!" You kept crying no matter what he said.
I know the golden rule of the boy-generations very well; but boys can cry. Boys have the right to cry; boys are kids, too.
You don’t know if you’ll fight for old people’s power games and die young when you grow up. You don’t know if you’ll go through many sufferings in this crazy world. You don’t know if you’ll survive in a world full of hatred and discrimination. You don’t know yet.
If you hurt, you have the right to cry. People are not very smart; sometimes you have to cry to let them know your heart is broken or what they did to you is wrong.