Over two decades old and we’re still young

It’s not hard for the wind to grab you by the throat. It’s not hard for it to sweep you off your feet as you step outside your house and the hard, sharp breeze whizzes past you. It’s not hard for you to forget everything when you’ve just been slapped by that very force of nature, probably because that feeling is as exhilirating as it is painful.

For two decades and then some, we hold each other’s hands and wish for greater things to fall from the sky. For two decades and then some, we ask for better lives and for better relationships, for better health and for better luck.

But you and I, we live in chaos. We are devoid of wordly chasms. Our creaky limbs and our golden eyes are moulded with the earth and its history. For us, there will be no benevolence beyond what is offered, because the seas and the oceans and the plains don’t work that way. We must use our fingers to carve roads for ourselves; roads lit with the litany of our futures.

For better or for worse.