Internet is puberty of society.

Love is not a verb. Love is a noun. Love’s activity is people breathing, cells dividing, a dove taking a flight. This grammar of life not all can see.

Puberty corrupts - that’s a fact, and it corrupts without consent – that’s the concern.

Except that today, oblivious to everyone, there is a hair standing tall inside his shorts: a single hair: long, black and shining. Sprouting out of nowhere, it stands rebelliously erect on his tiny barren orb, not thwarted by the force of the cloth of his underwear, announcing its eventual arrival with élan.