1. In the dreamy-eyed dawn before the world stretches your soul thin and words grow too heavy and your own microcosmic tragedies—ERs and ambulances and deaths and Alzheimer’s and nursing homes and suicides—compete with mass shootings and wars and pandemics and abortion legislation and opioid epidemics and racial inequality and fires and droughts and election fraud and mental health crises and you’re crying at Sprite commercials and your voice grows hoarse trying to be heard in an army of anger, you realize the grief that began so long ago will always linger in the shadows until you do something—
Thank-you.
Thank you for speaking out