Do you like this prologe for a book i want to write?

Every spring the buds on trees come like aliens; unfamiliar and foreign. It’s understandable considering people in Massachusetts usually have five months of winter before the first bud breaks, but it’s weird that they never look the same. You remember pictures of trees with leaves on them but you never see the trees the same way as you did the previous spring. The funny thing is the trees are exactly the same; it’s you who has changed. The trees are no longer as big or as fun to climb on, and the grass is just green; no longer is it a plush carpet. The sunset isn’t the time where the monsters come out to get the little girls who haven’t gone to bed yet; it’s just a splatter of the warm colors we learned about in art class. The big dipper is just an arrangement of stars, not a sign that god put there, just a coincidence. The stars are just balls of fire floating in unending space that will one day eat up the whole universe. The world will keep having horrendous disasters that we will have no control over; not even Bat Man or Super Man can save us. Society has brainwashed us. Every. Single. One. No person left unturned; no rock left classified.