The whole world is falling apart…
What are we to do?
The dreamers and the writers and the artists and the mystics wear themselves to the bone describing and attempting to demonstrate things do not have to be this way, can be another way…
But what good does it really do?
Does anyone really hear?
Does anyone really care?
Are there really subconscious sparks kept alive with the gentle breeze of these whispers, sparks that without these seemingly unheard whispers would blink into nonexistence, and then we would really see what falling apart is?
Why does hope not die?
As bombs explode around us, do we continue to cling to hope from a feeling that it is possible, or do we cling from mere stubbornness and inability to imagine a world with no hope?
Things are changing.
The Sun is rising.
What exactly the Sun will mean to each and every one of us depends on the choices we make.
And I am a hopeless dreamer.
I will fall apart for the whole world.