I'm not that graceful.
I'm one of those jumbled, tangled, wordless, gasping voices.
I grip the truth like it's the only thing not crumbling in an earthquake. I grip it and I scream.
It has to be hope. There must be hope. If not for hope, there are only dead walls and barren streets.
So we sway with the ground, watching the pavement ripple. Waves of concrete heave all around us. The sky is the only thing not crashing down.
The only thing that stays constant is air.
We breathe. It's an inhale, hot and choking. It's an exhale, cold and relinquishing.
Fall backwards. The air won't catch you. You'll slam into the ground, gravel will splash all around you.
It's been broken.
And you can't trudge backwards. There is only forward.
Forward will be enough.
It has to be.