When I graduated from college this past Fall, I consoled myself with aspirations of writing my comic script and getting into shape, as well as assuring myself I would find some lousy retail gig to bide my time and save some money as I try to piece myself together. No matter how often I rationalized, I didn’t imagine that I would be riddled with ailments that typically ravage someone four times my age. The majority of my time has been devoured by playing video games, my motivation suffocating under my pajamas.  

Thank God I have my friends and family to get through all of this- everyone’s been nothing but supportive and I couldn’t be more grateful. Alas- natural is the course of the human condition to find others to bear the burdens of one’s own shortcomings, grievances, and uncommon deliriousness. It hasn’t all been terrible, though- lately I’ve found myself remembering humorous and lighter times from my past. Times I didn’t recognize as being uplifting as they happened, and come back to me now to wash a smile over my sullen face. Doesn’t it always go that way, though? And in all honesty, in an unprecedented turn of events I find myself at peace with some of the things that used to enrage me. So perhaps, having too much time to yourself does help you grow. I feel more comfortable with who I am and what I’m looking for in life, even if the career aspect is suffering a bit. I know deep down that I’m the only one that can tread down the path I carve out for myself in this craggy, unpredictable world- and I am scared; as a matter of fact, my fear of the unknown is paralyzing. Yet I keep waking up each and every day I’m in this void- and I know something is keeping me going. Even through this clouded pitfall, hope has found me. And I don’t want her to go- I grasp at her, wishing to swallow her and have her pump through my blood and mark my face with an indefinable glow- I want the present me to be the envy of the pale shadow of a girl I used to be. But once, a wise lyricist wrote a line to the effect of, “…the more you cling to something…you’ve already lost it.” So I want it to become a part of me, not an intangible goal that drifts in the distance, barely distinguishable amidst the shadows of doubt and defeat. I’d like to think I’m already there- that I’m not wholly duping myself into such a possibility.

I used to think that somehow I wasn’t meant to meet a tragic end- the kind that sneaks up behind you and pulls you away before you can even set foot in any semblance of livelihood; that leaves you floating over your empty body wondering, “Where did I go wrong?” It wasn’t youthful defiance; it was outright self-assuredness- dare I say belief- that I was destined for something greater. How selfish of me. Just downright selfish. I witness all of the time how such promising lives are snuffed out in the blink of an eye, and of course now I know better. For the past few years, I’ve been obsessed with leaving a mark in the world, with being remembered. That’s not such an alien desire, is it? But nothing is permanent. What I do with the here and now, that’s what matters. When I’m alone in the vampirish hours of the morning, I ask myself the kinds of questions that most people probably don’t even wish to take a stab at- questions like, how would I like to spend the last few moments of my life? What truly makes me happy? Not plodding along and getting by- but pure, inextricable elation? I used to think my loneliness was a curse, but in many ways, it’s helped me realize what’s important. I’m truly starting to believe that there’s no such thing as ‘nothingness’- even in such a painful rift of my life, things can be put in perspective.

I’m always thinking of my grandparents, who left this ‘plane’ several years ago- and they still bear such a presence and influence in my life. Even when my life was full of calamitous, continuous axing and daily grinding, I thought of them. But I can’t fully express how much they are a part of me now as they were when I stood in my crib well over 20 years ago, watching as the two of them smiled at me. This is my first memory. And as I get older, and their faces grow hazier with the ever-increasing unreliability of all memories, I will never forget the love and warmth that embraced me in that moment. It’s what’s kept me afloat, and will carry me through the fiercest tempest that might be awaiting me. So I believe that, what this all boils down to, is that no one is ever forgotten. An individual can touch another person in the most unexpected ways, and those are the kinds of moments we can cherish-that can fuel us- as we wind down our fog laden paths.

“Until you do, you remain in chains.

Never underestimate your courage.

Be positive in your approach.

If necessary, take it in stages.

Often your fear is outdated,

or based on a misunderstanding or misapprehension.

Once you break the spell, you’re free.

Look it straight in the eye.

Back yourself.

The challenge is not to win but to conquer fear. It’s not the other people you have to beat, it’s yourself. - Anonymous”

Unfortunately it’s been a while since my last post, but lately i’ve been taking positive strides to improve my quality of life and overall mindset (quitting smoking- 6 weeks with no relapses, eating healthier by going vegan, exercising and practicing yoga, and removing some toxic relationships and attitudes held by myself and others). so now, i feel it’s incredibly important to reflect on this excerpt from “it’s never too late”. this entire summer i’ve been more conflicted than ever by my feeling that i’m nothing more than a foil to others, based on my tendency to revolve my self-worth around my relationships with others and their feelings or approval of me. i believe that i need to clear out the cobwebs, the negativity, and the lack of faith- and just keep moving forward. i have an amazing support system, but for the first time i feel that i have finally established clear, tangible goals for myself, both short-term and long-term, and will do anything to achieve those goals. i’ve been squashed down a lot recently, and it’s really had an impact on influencing me to not only change my perception of the world but of myself- who i am, what i’m capable of, what kind of difference i can make. i’ve been told that i don’t seem to have any real passion, but i’ve discovered that this is untrue. i’ve always been ambitious, i’ve just never been able to put my finger on exactly what it is i’m striving toward. now i understand what it is i am passionate about, and i don’t need a career goal to accomplish any of my dreams. it helps, but it doesn’t have to define who i am. i have many talents, and i feel that one job cannot serve as the sole outlet to let me express who i am. i’m passionate about helping people, about friendships and relationships, about being healthy, having fun, exploring new places and trying new things, about being creative, helping people and making a difference in others lives. i know that if i set my mind to something, i can’t fall back into my old patterns and back down because of the negative feelings i get from other people. this traces back to my previous entry, “to be strong”. i have to remain steadfast and confident in my convictions, and to not let others opinions, mentalities, or bad attitudes ultimately effect my decisions. everyone has had devastating, tragic, and/or upsetting, discouraging things happen in their lives; what really matters is growing from these experiences and never allowing yourself to go back to the things that consume you, drag you down and make you lose sight of who you are. of course i recognize that i have to let myself remember i’m human, and no one can do it all, but they can try. as long as there is an idea and an effort, anything is possible. if someone tells me no or something seems impossible, i will make it happen. not to prove anyone wrong, but to prove to myself that i don’t need to rely on anyone else, or luck, or money to make something happen. i will never allow myself to stagnate again, and even when i have crummy days or just feel sad, i will promise to keep myself busy and do something, anything, to make myself feel better; even if my writing sucks, or a paint a bad picture, or i feel sick, i will remind myself that without darkness, there is no light.

you risked so much to come all the way out here to see me; as you wrote in your makeshift letter, you went “against all odds.” apart from granting me the extraordinary blessing of true friendship, you brought that little book with you. truth be told, anyone can benefit from it and apply it to their daily lives. which is exactly what i personally intend to do. as with any incarnation of a self-help regimen, one can only take the first step if they are willing to accept their flaws. then there is the giant leap between the first step and making the courageous effort and conjuring the (seemingly-inhuman-yet-essentially-human) conviction to keep moving forward. as i learned (or gathered the impression) from my religious myth seminar, rituals not only simultaneously tend to keep us human and keep us in touch with our surroundings, but also with the undefinable, sometimes unfathomable things beyond our immediate surroundings. and so i take to ritual, to keep in tune with what i can and can’t put my finger on, which seems to be a little bit of everything these days. my ritual involves randomly opening up to one page of the book and applying the “act” to myself. since it is my first day, i was struck by the coincidence of the particular ‘lesson’ (as i’ll refer to it) i happened to come across **although i’m trying not to read too much into it, because of a) buddhism’s cautious heedings toward attachment, and b) the concept of subconscious projection (that you also taught me about) into the environment and receiving feedback that ‘mysteriously’ relates to my personal situation; considering i firmly believe the universe doesn’t seem to play favorites and the core of life is subjectivity** the following: “it’s never to late…to be strong-

You don’t have to be overbearing,

to be strong.

Be strong in your convictions,

your love,

your friendships.

Be strong like a foundation stone.

It will centre you.

And allow you to step off with confidence.”

I look at the postcard my sister made for her art ventures that i’m using as a bookmark, and for a moment i’m reminded of the unconditional love that surrounds me. of how incredibly fortunate i am. that this is the greatest gift i could ever hope to receive, whether i once chose to realize it or not: the ability to recognize the mistakes of my past and rather than feeling pain and regret, i have promised myself i will acknowledge how far i’ve come instead. that this is a new beginning- into a bright, beautiful future. 

the edge is glowing

waiting for your touch

the crimson glimmers

they needed you so much

a sigh reaches your ear in the cold

suffocating, stale breath in your hand

a velvet cascade of eternity

the scent of hair lying in strands

a rampage in the sheets

a flower plucked and drowned

your feet still clinging to the streets

attached to nothing but a

quiet, distilled sound

the aidoru are crying

their voices whispers

wiped out

paling in the light of your moon

finger shaped traces

the rush of escape

on a golden cloud

heavy under your skin

reaching into an empty hole

black satin beads watching

ebbing on a virtual frontier

a pulse against your pulse

feel it, embrace it

destroy it, send it back to the dust

the aidoru are crying

their voices whispers

wiped out

paling in the light of your moon

finger shaped traces

the rush of escape

on a golden cloud

the brush is lost

in the broken canvas

your thoughts, their thoughts

caressing you like an ambush…

a foreign planet calls you home

you sit on the roof alone

but soon you’ll find another

there’s always a better one

to discover

This poem was originally inspired by the idea behind William Gibson’s writings. Gibson is considered one of the forerunners of the “cyberpunk” sci-fi genre, and has also influenced the band Buck Tick during their “Mona Lisa Overdrive” (also the same name as one of Gibson’s novels) concert days. At the time I wrote this, I was reading…or should I say, struggling through, “Neuromancer.”

I tried really hard to like his writing, I did. I was initially interested in him because of his influence on some of Buck Tick’s song lyrics, and it’s always fun to learn about what inspires some of your favorite artists. But I think I prefer their interpretation of “cyberpunk” a lot more than Gibson’s! The imagery in Neuromancer is really cool though, however it was made into a horrible, low-budget movie that further distorted my impression of it. It’s really similar to Bladerunner…at least that’s what I kept picturing in my head when I read the first chapter of Neuromancer (creepy smiling geisha yay…)

With some mild influence from Gibson’s concepts and the heavy influence of Buck Tick always swirling in my subconscious, I began writing and this poem was the result. I had a couple of my friends read this poem and they didn’t get it. I didn’t really think it was too abstract, but it’s meant to be about an infatuated stalker/serial killer. I intended to juxtapose the psychological grittiness and horror of a homicidal maniac with the concept of Japanese “Aidoru”- or “Idols”- those women worshipped for their nature- and gravity-defying physiques.

Side note: When I was reading “Neuromancer”, I had a difficult time understanding some lines about holographic vaginas on some android gazelle-like females’ sleeves or something (wtf?!). I showed it to my friend, who just laughed and called Gibson an otaku. Yeah…sorry, but in my opinion Gibson is, in a word, overrated. He has very imaginative, intriguing ideas, I just dislike his execution. I did really like one character though, Molly Millions. She was pretty badass, and I like the whole idea of someone’s body getting “enhanced”; it definitely lends a futuristic feel to any character. Kind of reminds me of Ghost in the Shell, too.

near a sparkling snow flower

in the red light of a new sun

you were born with wings

your bright eyes saw everything

in a sea of a thousand hummingbirds

i heard your voice

a quiet heartbeat, on this cold planet

a white spirit showed me your face

in this world, in that sky - forever

i am always searching for you

this life - big and beautiful for you

everything I have is yours

on a moonlit night

the trees dance in a black forest

your footsteps find me

the earth, the sea, the stars; everything in this life

could never make me as happy

as my angel

“The Monk By the Sea”, Caspar David Friedrich 1808-10

“A current under sea/Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell/He passed through the stages of his age and youth/Entering the whirlpool…” -T.S. Eliot, “The Wasteland”

Consumption. Failure. Dismissal. Disapproval. Voicelessness. Powerlessness. Defenselessness. Shame. Anxiety. Desperation. Drowning. Degradation. Rejection. Confusion. Distraction. Meaninglessness. Misunderstanding. Isolation. Inescapable.

Loneliness. 

If that is everything love has to offer, I no longer wish to know its boundless affliction.

If death is to swaddle me in an eternal slumber, as you have foreseen in your dreams, I ask it- no, I beg it- to release me from the prison of this world.

“Woman Lives With Exhumed Bodies of Her Husband and Twin Sister”

Newspaper headlines this past summer featured the story of a 91 year old woman who had been living with the corpses of her deceased husband and twin sister.

An online article of the occurrence reads:

“Mrs. Stevens explained that death was hard for her to take. She felt differently about death. She felt she was beating death by having her bodies back. Another reason was that she and her sister were claustrophobic and she couldn’t stand the thought of her sister and her husband spending eternity in a casket in the ground.” (http://www.allvoices.com) 

This story is very reminiscent to William Faulkner’s short story, “A Rose For Emily.”

I shudder at  the thought of dead bodies; I always have. Even when my beloved grandmother passed away, I refused to touch her cold, lifeless body. I felt guilty treating her body like that, but I just knew that wasn’t really my grandmother- it was only a shell of what I would always remember as, at least physically. While my parents and other family members kissed her forehead and hands, I just watched in fear, counting the seconds before we would leave the funeral home and start the funeral procession.

When I first read Faulkner’s story a few years ago, I was disgusted and frightened by the thought of someone sleeping next to a corpse. I have had nightmares that a corpse was sleeping next to me; I would awake staring into the decayed face, eyes black and sunken, its jaw loose and crooked.

I am sure many people would find this story somewhat romantic and touching, albeit morbid and possibly even offensive. It could be that I have the utmost respect for the dead; this may even tie into my fear of cemeteries, ghosts, and the lifeless body of anything else I felt possessed a soul (including road kill).

Looking passed the physical idea, though, I feel that the experience of loving someone so deeply and not accepting their death can warp a person’s perceptions of reality and mental health. I suppose love is something we wish we could bring with us into the afterlife, a feeling so strong that it transcends this life and becomes eternal.

“…the face of destiny or luck or God that gives us war also gives other kinds of pain: the loss of health and youth, the loss of loved ones, the fear that we will end our days alone. Some people suffer in peace the way others suffer in war. The special gift of that suffering…is how to be strong while we are weak, how to be brave when we are afraid, how to be wise in the mist of confusion, and how to let go of that which we can no longer hold. In this way, anger can teach forgiveness, hate can teach us love, and war can teach us peace.”

-          Le Ly Hayslip, When Heaven and Earth Changed Places

“A voice calls me-

A sudden winter shower

In this floating world.” - Yaba

Tensei (Reincarnation)

Through the stars across the whole sky, the razorblade wind
Gently slices me, and I feel nothing…nothing at all

The grass and flowers sprout, the eggs are dreaming
We live walking over people’s corpses

I swim in a splintered reflection in the waves, in a forest of shafts of sun, without losing my way
An angel sings, “Come to my clapping hands”

You and I burn, our lives flicker
Let the hurricane lilies bloom on our corpses

And the end of space and time, I pass you by
Our fingertips meet only for a moment…goodbye

Through the stars across the whole sky, the razorblade wind
Gently slices me, and I feel nothing…nothing at all

I have been listening to Japanese bands for quite some time now, while one band and singer has always stood out to me the most. Sakurai Atsushi often uses the anguish of losing his mother at a young age to inspire the beauty and depth behind his lyrics. I feel that these subjects are deeply reflective of eastern religious beliefs and culture, such as Shinto being such an integral part of Japanese society that the two are nearly interchangeable entities. I believe that death is one of the most influential themes an artist can utilize in their creations, since all of us have experienced the pain of lingering in its shadow, only to await the grasp it will finally use to claim each and every one of us. Another song Sakurai wrote with his band, Buck Tick, is called “Die”:

I spread out both my hands
If I pray that I want to forgive everything
You will fly down from the sky
That thing called the truth—
There was none of it in me
I don’t even know what the meaning is of living

(Nothing)
Ah, the stars look like they’re swimming in the sea
Ah, like they’re happily inviting me; the night is gentle

Crossing even those clouds
To the shining light, in this night
I can still fly anywhere, my body exhausted
Flapping my wings until I die

Let’s part here
There isn’t supposed to be any sadness…
Lightly, give me a last kiss
The sweet dream ends
Closing my eyes, I feel eternity
The warmth called death in my skin

(This isn’t a dream)
Ah, upon waking, far away and deep
Ah, where is this; who am I? I’ve broken through

My body is about to break apart
My voice, my love
A blue planet disappearing far away
I look down to gaze at it
Goodbye to everything…

I can never return again
To that ocean where I was born
A blue planet disappearing far away
I look down to gaze at it
Goodbye to everything…

This song has always had a mysterious hold over me, and yet it is relatable…I have often had this feeling myself, and it lends the same quality as having an out of body experience. When I listen to these songs, the fear of death is diminished, and it becomes a thing of great intrigue. At the same time, I am often haunted by these lyrics, imagining that Sakurai wished to experience death in the same way that his mother did, trying to comprehend the loss. I feel that Sakurai was deeply inspired by classical Haiku writers of Japan, since the occasional arbitrary usage of some words are expressed in such a poetic way. Perhaps he also wished to recreate the instance of their deaths (literally writing haiku as they were dying) in his lyrics.

These hands are divided into twenty-eight sections, each containing a Hebrew letter. Twenty-eight, in Hebrew numbers, spells the word Koach = strength. At the bottom of the hand, the two letters on each hand combine to form ????, the name of God. The position of each hand in this image forms the Hebrew letter shin, the first letter in Shaddai, the name of God that refers to Him as a protector.

when it comes to art, i feel that abstraction is best, if not the basis of it all. the expression of art is a shape-shifter; it is always changing and no matter when you acquire the gift of inspiration, you are in a sense constantly constructing and deconstructing that matter at its core- repackaging and re-gifting it once you see it to your interpretation of its final stage. there is no possession in inspiration; in its simplest design it exists to serve everything, and it is only within the perception of the artists- and all of us are- that it is mistaken as a subtle, fleeting presence.

I am currently writing a story that follows the main character through a series of tragedies, a loss of sense and knowledge of his identity, which paves the way for a chance at redemption and hope. The catalyst beneath all of the events in this story is a personal embodiment of death. At the end of the story, it is revealed that in order for Death to finally transcend the physical realm and enjoy an afterlife as if they possessed a spirit, they need to find one other physical body to assume their position as the physical representation of death. It turns out that this particular incarnation of death needs three incarnations, a concept I borrowed from Tibetan Buddhism, in which each reincarnation possesses the mind, body, and soul of the deceased. After applying this concept for my story, I realized that there is a Hebrew letter, shin, which sounds a lot like the name I gave to death, Sin. Shin is known as “The Eternal Flame”, and according to this website I discovered, it says

The letter shin appears engraved on both sides of the head- tefilin. On the right side, the shin possesses three heads, while on the left side it possesses four heads. In Kabbalah we are taught that the three-headed shin is the shin of this world while the four- headed shin is the shin of the World to Come. (http://www.inner.org/hebleter/shin.htm)

Along with their three reincarnations, they create the four, representative of the “World to Come.” Although I don’t know much about Jewish mysticism, I plan on reading more to find out the roots behind this mythology.

The following is a quote I thought of while writing my story, which I hope will cause people to take a break from asking about proof of God’s existence and consider the meaning of our own existence to God.

“We are all children of The Potter. He conceives us, molds us, then breathes life into us- and only reclaims us once we have been subjected to the influence of this world with the rest of His creations. For many of us His Being is relative, yet our being to Him is definite.”

I heard about Harold Camping through one of my professors. To skeptics, Camping is a widely recognized “false prophet”, touting his beliefs and “predictions” on nationally broadcasted, tiresomely recycled television. If one were to believe in Howard Camping’s “revelations”, they would already have begun preparing for the “inevitable” apocalypse on May 21, 2012. Viewers often call into his show and ask: ’What about the people who will sell their homes and wander the streets, awaiting the Second Coming, only to still be alive on May 22?’ And Camping, boggled by the potentiality of his prophecies being incorrect, replies with incredulity, ‘What do you mean? There will be no May 22, 2012.’ According to Camping and his devotees, it does not matter what we do with our lives. In this rendition of Judgment Day God will “hand-pick” those who will enter the Kingdom of Heaven, and those who will suffer in Hell. The fates of man in the after-life are predetermined, and cannot be altered through action on this Earth.

If this were true, the agonizingly painful reality that no such thing as justice or redemption exist, or even the debatable concept of free will (debatable in the sense that God foresees our actions and chooses to do nothing about it, or is He incapable of doing anything about it? This does not imply that He is powerless over us, but if humans truly have free will, He can predict our actions but not interfere with future outcomes), then what is the point to this life? As my professor pointed out, how do we distinguish between someone like Mother Teresa and someone like Hitler in this case? Camping’s advice is to do nothing with ourselves, and since we alone cannot determine who will be saved and who will not, he suggests running outside and shouting, “Please! Please save me!” Then, just standing and waiting.

Camping is not the only one who has predicted the world ending in 2012. The last year of the Mayan calendar is also 2012. Yet somehow, people are more akin to believe a “televangelist” with very little concrete evidence of his preachings, rather than a mathematically devised calendar from an age of intellectually scientific development. One is left to ask, is it a matter of preference toward religion, and has something to do with Christianity’s prevalence in Western society? Or is it that the Mayan’s predictions are less believable because it was treated as a trend, something taken lightly because of that culture’s extinction? I feel that many people are less likely to believe the forbearance of the Mayan’s omen because their ideas were not directly linked to our own culture.

I am compelled to understand why any particular individual could believe Camping’s outrageous prophecy, given the disillusioning impact of the whole concept. Essentially, Camping is saying that our entire reality, and existence, amounts to nothing more than an instant of desperation, begging to be spared. How can this be possible; how can people accept this as the truth? What about relationships, experiences, senses, emotion, memories…everything that encompasses the essence of a human being? Camping’s “vision” distorts the meaning behind life, and treats it as a sort of limbo, awaiting one moment- one millisecond- that can attribute purpose to our being.

Many religions, especially Eastern religions such as Taoism and Buddhism, teach us to treat this life with care and restraint, so that we may be rewarded in the afterlife and ascend to a plane of eternal rewards. I am sure that many people feel our lives can be summarized by the way we die, such as the encounter someone has of their life “passing before their eyes” when they are in the throes of death. But Camping’s beliefs undermine all of these possibilities, and strip away the most beautiful parts of being human: the ability to question, to wonder, and to dream.

“I’ll burn, he thought, and be scattered in ashes all over the continental lands. I’ll be put to use. Just a little bit, but ashes are ashes and they’ll add to the land.”

-Ray Bradbury, The Illustrated Man

Michio Kaku is a Japanese-American physicist, who presents an amusing theory on how aliens (whether you believe in their existence or not) may view life on Earth. He suggests that we analogize it in terms of how we perceive ants while we are walking down the sidewalk. We don’t stop and ask the ants to take us to their leader, we don’t offer them gifts and technology; to the contrary, if we do not completely ignore them, we view them as a nuisance. Because the technology of aliens is so advanced, they have the ability to travel anywhere in the universe and dizzying speeds, possibly even at the speed of light. We are nothing but an ant colony to them; why should we be worth their time or efforts?

While this theory implies humans are in dire need of an ego check, it also makes me think about the theory that we were planted here by an alien, or perhaps several aliens working together. I had this discussion with one of my friends, and I said that maybe the God we worship in the West is really just an alien. But, he replied, who created that alien? When I worship God, I don’t worship just the creator of Earth, but of the whole cosmos.

It’s fun to think about aliens zooming through  the galaxy, but also overwhelming to imagine that we are just an infinitesimal speck in the universe. And, how many other “Earth’s” are there? Is there such a thing as a parallel universe? What about String Theory, which hypothesizes that there is no such thing as chance because everything in our world and the universe is connected? I feel that where once science and religion were considered opposites, they are quickly becoming complementary areas of study and fact. I’m curious to know when, if ever, science could find an explanation, in the way that it was discovered the “white light” is really just a rapid succession of electrical flickers going off in the brain. Sometimes I feel that mankind will eventually discover everything there is to know about the universe, with the exception of death. I believe death is the one commonality that binds all human beings together, and that we are not meant to know what happens after death.

Out of the dust

Springs a flower

Small and fragile

At this delicate hour

We keep running

Blindfolded and lost

Where does this horizon end?

Too many streets to cross

I think we’re fading

Stranded and screaming

Out of the dust

Never seeing in front of us

Out of the dust

Rise dead man’s hands

Searching and shaking

Forfeiting measure and plans

Falling on deaf ears

Isn’t this foolish?

Crying out to no one

But each other

I think we’re fading

Stranded and screaming

Out of the dust

Never seeing in front of us

It took a simple flower

To remind us why we’re here

At this delicate hour

Whispering in our ears

No more regrets

Taking nothing back

Here we are

Hand in hand

Going forward

Let’s hope this never ends

Past the speckles and dust

It’s always right here

In front of us