There is a point in this when we realize
That history did not stop when we were born.
Though we are each unique,
We are not so different than any who came before.
Like each raindrop that falls, and flows, and searches for the sea,
We wonder: What will this world do with me?
Perhaps we’ll nod our heads, and turn and look at the titles of the books on our shelves
And think “Well, we’re better off than they were!”
But that seems silly, flippant, somehow untoward.
It’s easy when the story is over, the book is closed, the names all lie within.
But when it’s here and it’s real and we feel the fear?
What do we do then?
Listen to the rain, and give thanks to our friends,
And help build towards the day when all of this ends.