It dawns Tuesday.
The Tuesday before Wednesday
The Tuesday before Christmas.
Constantinople.
Zurich.
Berlin.
Brussels.
A world in lockdown.
In lunacy.
A world that pulls the trigger, that slams on the gas pedal and speeds into a market full of ornaments, of carousels and and lights.
A life you don’t own, that belongs to somebody else; to somebody who will decide the “when” of your last breath.
——————————————————
Channels
Websites
Social media
Notifications
Indications of “marked safe”
We exchange texts messages: “Don’t be late”
Come home. Red alarm.
Don’t go out a lot.
Do not enter the tube during rush hour.
Don’t go to concerts.
Don’t
I will go out. We will go out.
Until late. Until the sun rises.
Tomorrow I will take the tube. Just like the day before.
We will go together to a Bob Dylan concert in May to knock together on Heaven’s Door.
Now that the world is being consumed by terrorism.
We answer back. We answer back with Christmas and love.
We will win without armor.
We will wear the clothes of love.
You owe this to the girl in front of you with the balloon.
We will turn our eyes to the lights and we will light up the hope.
Because any hope is better than “no hope”.
PS. Our thoughts to the ones that left. To their families.
Ε
