From the little box of nightmares that stays in my pocket, I see glimpses of the world we tend to shy away from.
All that appears are repeated headlines and horror stories that have become far from fiction. Stories of inhumane humanity claiming the lives of many, and claiming the livelihood of many others.
Bombs, collapse, famine, replacement, apathy, suffering.
Each dirty pile our Earth has to offer, packed neatly into digital depressive letters sent to each one of our inboxes, waiting to be consumed in our routine of overflowing insanity dumped into the depths of brains.
Excessiveness is their motto, given to us like our daily bread, only for us to ask ourselves, “Why do I always feel so tired?”
It takes time to process what we see, yet our anger acts faster than our reason, all to line up and yell at the growing void where the voices of the masses used to reside.
I look away for just a moment, my eyes strained, my mind foggy.
I take a deep breath, breathing out, nearly grunting. I put the little box of nightmares away, staring out to the trees beside the train station, swaying gently with the cool spring breeze.
I breathe again, more gentle this time, staring deeply into the young green leaves, bright and clean and possibly naive, if leaves could ever be that.
I shake my head, the corners of my mouth raising just a bit.
I lower my shoulders, hearing the train bell ring. It’s not all bad out here, at least, not all the time.
