…for as long as I have lived, there have been lines that define humanity. The good and the bad. The strong and the pathetic. The wise and the dumb. Us and them.
Surely, there was a time before the lines were drawn. When the only possibility was the possibility of knowing the as-yet-unknown. I hope that this was the case, at some point in time. I want to believe in a place without lines.
I look at the world around me, and all I see is scars. Scars where humanity has torn itself away from the earth, the place in which it was born. We cradle our dreams above it all. We desecrate it to feed them into our reality.
Our reality. A construct. A tool. A blank slate with no hope of improvement, a disposable effigy sapped from the ground and welded to fit.
I cannot see the stars. They are gone, lost to the smog that chokes our skies and punishes the wind.
I cannot smell the earth, only the dull sourness of concrete and the acrid stink of disused solvents.
I cannot hear life, only the droning roar of a thousand engines, or the static hum of an air-filter.
I cannot see lines, only scars.
The rain has stopped…