Sundial

There wasn’t much before there was here. And by a human way of looking at it, there won’t be much after there is no more here. And we could maybe just pretend when we’re gone the world will still be. Or maybe we hope it won’t? And if you think about it, there are enough nuclear weapons to obliterate the world more than once. More than twice. More than ten times. And the world could just end, right now, any second. Now! But it hasn’t yet, so we keep living. And the people dying everyday become just another statistic. And we sit in our schools desks and learn about genocide in Africa or what happened fifty years ago. That seems impossibly far away. When fifty years is the blink of an eye. Less than the blink of an eye, actually. We dread the speech we have to do in an hour. And that comes and goes. And it’s over. We look back on it next week, and how impossibly far does that seem? Or next year and we begin to wonder if we did it at all. We stare out of greying windows and wish we were anywhere else. Than we get there, and it’s no different from here.
Tick-tock.