I am rage
I am so much rage. I don’t know what to do with the rage. I turn it into sadness but the sadness feels endless. Bottomless. They can’t even call. They can’t even text their loved ones to tell them they’re still alive.
At least I have the privilege of naming my dead. At least their mothers have something to bury.
I can’t imagine what life at the end of the world feels like. What nights at the end of the world look like. Alone, cold, without water, without a line out to the outside… just to let someone, anyone out there know that you're still alive…
I remember what it’s like to be afraid of the sky but not like this… I can’t imagine what it’s like to be afraid of anything but the darkness. Looking at the bars on your cellphone run out before you can tell someone that you’re still alive…
Of all the dark moments of my life I can’t imagine what it’s like to fear the darkness and the light. To fear the next minute, the next moment. To become another digit. Another nameless number. Without a mother. Without a memory. Without being buried.
In all the darkest moments of my life I can’t imagine what it’s like to wait by a phone that cannot ring…. to wait just to hear anything... To wait at home, at work, in traffic… to stare in terror at those check marks to turn blue….
My rage is sadness. My rage is fear. My rage is fire. My rage is silence.