sometime in 2020 | an ode to where it's hurting

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Take this very second to sit back and relax. Put down the pen on the desk. Or the book you're reading for the hundredth time. Or the mug of coffee that has turned bitter. Or the project you've yet to submit. Turn off your phone. Sit back and close your eyes. Listen to the world. Trace an imaginary finger and find the places where the wounds are open. Bleeding pain and storms that won't heal. Unless you promise to listen, the world will weep in ache. It will show its hands, where children are dying because they're hungry. Its limbs, where homelands are trusting their boats in the sea. It will point at its heart and plead you to ease it. (Its heart is where every beautiful person with a different language wrapped around their tongue and adorning the colours on their skin is from. Every country. Every island.) Listen to the world. Ache with it. Cry with it. Accept it wholeheartedly. With its Band-Aid and bandages and IV tubes and refugee camps and wars and orphans and migrants and funerals. Embrace it with open arms. Kiss the pain away. Allow the world to cry. We all have a breaking point. It's okay that the world is not strong enough to carry you. Take this very moment to carry the world on your shoulders. The world is tired. Let it rest for a while. Life goes on. And the wisest thing for you to do is to go with it. Move with it. Like a river rowing through the forests. Walk with it. Like the sands in the desert holding the winds. Life goes on. And if you will, accept what it tells you to do, and be it.

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