Some days there is just no answer. There’s just staring into teary eyes and broken hearts. The broken hearts will break dreams. The tears stream down faces hiding anger betraying calm. It all happens in a vacuum while the sheltered walk by, inches away, but blissfully unaware of the trauma being passed by.
The clock ticks. The foots step. The mind wonders.
Irrationality strikes. Actions missed. Questions unasked. Advice not given. Rationality strikes back. Done all that was possible. Seems like an excuse hindsight likes to prey upon. Perhaps for that elusive sleep that is so hard to find when the voices sing so loud.
It’s not enough to note an objection. Are all objections notable? Can they ever be harmless? Should they be? In the arsenal of the helpless, chaos is all that remains because Harry Anslinger’s world deemed it. He would be so proud. Punitive couched as humane, health carelessly discarded. So, perhaps a chaotic objection fits the solemn occasion.
Prove them wrong.
Sing loudly.
The demons are not immortal. There are effective antidotes to their poison. Resist in ways that lead to light. The tunnel doesn’t last forever. Don’t go quietly into the night. The day is worth it. Get there.
The adults were helpless today. Don’t you ever be.