the bombs hit schools and hospitals. I watch them all go up in flames on my phone. there are figures inside and I can make out hands reaching out for help if I force myself to focus. the rain pours like it hasn’t in weeks. I hear the storm and see it on my window: never forced to feel a single drop against my skin. inside the house I am safe. I am never left wanting and it is a choice to care that children are burning alive while I’m paid to press keys and shut out the rest of the world. the child once believed in the dream of a fairer world. he doesn’t know what to believe in anymore.
the planes are still flying despite all the rain. I boil the kettle, return to my desk and try to do the same.
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