Lead and feathers
They emerge stumbling and dazed, bloodied and covered in dust and debris. Mere moments before, they were cheering spectators at the Bataclan in Paris, at the soccer stadium in Baghdad, or lounging beach goers in Grand-Bassam, or commuters and travelers in Brussels and Ankara, before being abruptly stopped in their tracks. These images have become so tragically familiar and similar, they almost blur together.
Yet every time these atrocities occur, it strips away more of our fast dwindling innocence – which is feather light and already way too fragile.
These truths that confront us headlong are as heavy and solid as lead. Sometimes it is so much to bear, that we have to, in a fit of self preservation, ask ourselves whether truth is real, or merely a perception with no objective existence?
