Yours

The tension, the frantic phone calls to make sure your loved ones are safe, the sleepless nights, the apnea feeling of barely being able to breathe, the staying up late for no obvious reason other than the fact that your mind is resisting sleep, the liquid air filled with the stillness of death, the outbursts of violence, the constant news, the stretched nerves and hysterical laughs, the helplessness, the anger, the frustration, the muted life in everyone’s eyes, all of this becomes yours overnight, whether you like it or not, whether you can stomach it or not.

The gut wrenching feeling of all that could have been achieved and will never be, the throbbing pulse of your heart beating too fast, the never ending prayers that this is all a dream, a bad dream, a nightmare, that you’re due to wake up anytime soon, the impatient hope of believers, the resigned gazes of those who have already been there, who have already done that, and who just wanted a tiny patch of peace and quiet before they depart from this world, all of this becomes yours overnight, whether you like it or not, whether you can stomach it or not.

The conscience that your situation could be worse, that other people are suffering much more than you are, the conscience that this doesn’t make you feel any better, but rather much, much worse, the tiny parts of you that wither and die each time you look at a picture too long, each time you hear that additional piece of information, the proverbial drop that opens the floodgates in your eyes, the intense fatigue that holds you in its grip with no chance of release, the shocking desire to lie down on blond sand and let yourself go, all of this becomes yours overnight, whether you like it or not, whether you can stomach it or not.

The realization that no matter what, life has to go on, that you can’t stay frozen in anxiety waiting for the penny to drop, waiting and hoping, the strength and the force that keeps you going no matter what, because you have to, because you want to, because there is simply no other way, the fact that it is not courage but rather the will of life itself reigning over you, the intense power of a friend’s hand on your shoulder, telling you that you’re chipping away at the sinister forces behind death and destruction, the tiny glimmer of hope as you picture yourself as a little bird, eating away at the darkness, all of this is yours, yours, and changing what’s yours, becomes your concern.

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