Memories of war we let dissolve in our wake, though ash still covers our hands. In that, we forget the cause of our tragedy, and not anything we could feel sorry for ourselves about. Everyone can be a martyr if they prove their virtue. The next moment consumes us.
Forget what you’ve heard. What would the World Food Program know about starvation? Or the Uighurs of genocide? Or mother nature of poison? No – let’s start a civil war about masks.
Listen only to those who tell you they know better, and of those, only the ones you hear. What could go wrong?
The grains which stick to our hands are the sins for which we’re guilty. In shame our heads will hang.
Copyright Matt Jackson