Aesthetic of shit.

“When faced with headlines calculating how long we collectively have left to live, or how the angry men in charge of the world still haven’t been taught to share the sandbox, I tend to lean further into my dreaming. I tend to cling to the things I can change. In 200,000 years of living, the human race has learned so little. We invent the wheel, shoot ourselves to the moon, collapse the ocean, forget to stomp out cigarettes. If there is an antidote to the discord, it is your tender hands pressed against your bleeding heart. In my wildest dreams, I imagine a love beyond countries and gods. In my wildest dreams, no child learns how to play dead. Out the window, is everything green and growing. All the guns rusted in the rain. It hurt to work this hard, believe me; the taste of swallowed pride, the grit of sore muscles, the shame in how we could have started so much sooner, but how worthwhile it is to be here now. In my wildest dreams, someone across the world falls asleep safe. My neighbor’s fridge is full. I can see so many more stars. The news is slow and none of us mind. In my wildest dreams, we all come home from the war.”