sick

i cannot imagine what it feels like to leave your house for good, for the bombs, for the enemy. i cannot imagine what it feels like to see your son being cut to pieces by shrapnel. i cannot imagine what it feels like to see your whole family blown to bits of bloody cinder while you watch, unharmed, praying that some shard may come and take you away with them. but you are left, standing in a field of black, without a house, without a stitch, without a family. when just last night you went to bed after kissing your son goodnight, and huddled by your husband, safe in his arms, with hopes of tomorrow.

it was not an earthquake. it was not a tornado. it was not the tsunami. certainly not a volcano. no. it was the hands of people from a safe distance, pressing buttons in the air. imagine that. a button took all that away. i cannot imagine.

i am sick when i think about it. when i think about how sick the world is. and how many people are standing in the black orphaned in this madness of sick minds.