I love the way you love stories. I love the way your heart rate picks up when the main character is in danger. The way your eyes widen and there’s adrenaline in your blood and for a moment, you are lost somewhere else. I love the way your inner voice fluctuates dramatically as it reads to you. How it speeds up and pauses, at all the right times. I don’t think anybody has ever told you, since I’m the only one to ever bear witness, and I just thought you should know.

I want to lay in the grass, and look up at the sky,
to still the frantic buzzing in my ear
that asks,
why why why

Tomorrow, the veil of darkness will be lifted. Clouded fog of the mind will be cleared. The questions that ruminate within will have their answers, and each will satisfy.

There is someone on their knees somewhere
enduring something, that I could not bear

You see one side of the six faced cube
and you cling to it,
because it justifies your escape

Our pain belongs to us
but it is not ours alone.

Nor does it only reach our loved ones
across the distance at which we keep ourselves from them.

Nor does it only touch the strangers we have slighted in the street.

Our pain is a collective. A single body that moves through each generation. That beats in every single mortal human heart. There are two things that most connect us, every one of us to the other: our suffering, and the desire to be free of it.