Spring eve lane-way breeze –
Roaring past a child’s room’s vent ~
Must be Totoro.
Round number, twenty ~
It’s also known as ‘a score’ ~
We might say ‘Gratitude’ –
We might have occasion to say thanks, often we have occasion to say thanks, but we don’t.
Thanks to first responders, thanks to off-duty officers who lend a hand, thanks to those who strip their sweaty shirt off and save a limb because some asshole has put nails and ball bearings in a bomb that is indiscriminate and aimed low.
Gratitude to those in uniform who do their job. They have seen this before in other lands, many, many times.
Nails. For fuck’s sake.
Someone else once conquered the Evil of The Nail.
Ball bearings, for fuck’s sake.
They should be marbles, not life changing projectiles.
The bomber was once a child.
Maybe they painted pictures.
Or maybe they weren’t allowed to paint, weren’t allowed pictures.
Everyone recorded this.
Everyone felt odd about ‘liking’ any comment on this.
Don’t stop running.
Don’t stop meeting in crowds.
Don’t stop feeling free.
Don’t let the bastards make you change how you live your life.
Don’t be a slave to fear.
There is no greater honour than to die as a free man. There is no greater power than Love.