What's Up?

The world is spinning too fast again, and it feels like the only thing left to do is take a deep breath and shout into the sky, hoping someone will answer. The voice bursts out, as if tired of being polite: it holds so much desperate faith that even the most unyielding sky must tremble a little. Everything around seems the same – the walls, the air, familiar faces – but inside, something has been cracking from inconsistencies for a long time. I want a revolution, but not a global one that starts with breathing. When you realize it's not shameful to hope, even if you've been trying to drag yourself to the top of your own hill for twenty-five years. And yet, a certain bright stubbornness persists. Admitting your confusion suddenly doesn't sound like weakness, but rather the only honest way to stay alive. Sometimes the loudest question is the answer itself.