We could use a little light.

That’s what they all say. Conversations like brick walls. High and thick and fake. Nod your head and smile. You don’t have a clue what they’re talking about, and if you did you wouldn’t care.

Daydreaming through sermons like elementary children. Drawing pictures to keep from nodding off. Cancer cells expanding, but you’re too aloof. People hurting, people dying, people lying–people charging people buying, people accessorising. People laughing, people dancing, people singing. People shooting, people looting, people standing silent. People in love, people in lust, people in liquor. People judging, people blaming, people misbehaving. People distancing, people ignoring, people saying it’s not my problem.

Somewhere someone is walking alone down a long, dark corridor wondering when they’ll see the light. Someone should show them. Won’t someone, anyone show them? But we’re all too preoccupied, finding our own light, losing our own light, watching to see how others find the light. But we’re just students in a cafeteria, trying to fit other people’s notions of what’s right and what’s wrong, what’s love and what’s hate, what’s black and what’s white, what’s poor and what’s rich, what’s cool and what’s lame, what’s real and what’s fake, what’s true and what’s false, what’s good and what’s bad, what’s worth dying for and what’s worth living for.

And sometimes it just gets too late and the answers don’t come and you have to drift off to sleep, pulling the covers tighter and wishing you had the answers to a million questions and a million problems and a million lives broken from a world of pain.

We could all use a little light.

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