Street

A while back I received a letter from Davide. He was my best friend when I was a child. We were at first school together for a year or more when I was about six years old. I remember his father being something important in a foreign country that I couldn’t imagine. I had forgotten all about Davide until a few days ago when he discovered who I had become. I am easy to find, I have kept my name. I was so delighted to hear from him. He was doing very well working out in the Gulf in A.I. He sent me an old photograph of the two of us at school together. I was shocked. I hadn’t realised he was black.

I love the experience of being alive. Yet so many people appear to be just getting through it and haven’t figured enough time aside to take it in, to play with. To know what it is to be alive, to live. To feel it. Chained to institutionalised poverty, a school system over-run, turning children off, unwanted babies becoming unwanted people. But what of the book he gave you to change your life that you never read? What of the sunset that, had you only asked why, would have re-written your future. What about the peace and a friendship and the space-station and the animals that broaden our horizons and young people who give us all faith in tomorrow? To watch beautiful young men laughing, lifting up somebody’s car and carrying it up the street and parking it someplace else, turned around, just for the sheer exhilarating fun of it. And to watch us resemble love, under the veil dancing and making it better, smiling, singing to themselves, nursing all our infants. People reaching out and bending down to their own kind and free healthcare and all our genders gently falling asleep and waking up for the work that needs to be done and lifting borders and tearing down walls and climbing the Shard without a rope and knowing you would sacrifice your life for one more worthy than you. And difference and forgiveness, silent achievements, change opinion, say sorry, purified water and more laughter and love and kindness and ideas and respect. And adults protecting the young like a wall of steel and being kind and ice shelves and wisdom and taking time to listen and meaning it and squeezing peaches on tactile bodies and powder blue dresses and the gymnasts in crucifixion and hearing it, be part of it, to witness it, and to know inside, that we are the same, that we make it better, that our morals, our blood, our beauty and our passions are unparalleled. And through stuff like that the whole world feels for a moment, we are connected, we are one.

I read recently that a team of doctors had removed a live grenade from the chest of a young soldier…. Everything you are ever going to need know about the reach of us is already there. 

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