As you sigh in quest of the moments from bridging the timelines between railroading into deadlines and the stillness in it's aftermath; Turning in your submissions, or Jumping onto a running bus, or Entering your home, and (Clink) Hanging your keys, Washing your hands; The blaring silence in your brain starting to increase the intensity of it's rigorous interrogation- "Why me?" "WHY ME?" I mean no trivialisation, I might be speaking out of privilege; But here's the thing, There's no answer to "Why us?" Because if there is, It definitely is a chain reaction. If we're the ones creating, then we're the ones
to blame too.
But does that stop us from creating? Yes, maybe. I'm not the one to tell you what's okay and what's not. But what I am doing is talk. This stage we've reached is so brutal, because anything we see projecting even a marginal sense of normality, is in a state of consecutive suppressive reflex by the abnormal. The word assurance, is a hoax to us and right now, maybe what we all need is a bare minimum of acknowledgement to this reflex.
Ps. Not a rant.