JayJay

There’s this song,

Slipping Through My Fingers.

By ABBA. From Mamma Mia!

That's how I see it.

Our rights.

“I try to capture every minute.”

I like the pace of time. I think that life tends to move on on just the right cadence, and if I had a Time Machine I would use it to lock time at its current pace.

imagine this:
us, walking barefoot through the wreckage of melted roads
the sun carving epitaphs into a sky too scorched for rain.

They call us the lost generation, 

but how can we be lost when we see everything? 

We inherited the ruins, 

the sins of the past like notifications, 

the echoes of greed carved into policy, 

With voices like flint against steel,
we strike against the silence,
catching fire – not to burn, but to blaze a path forward.
We are not the dying cinders of something lost,
but the first furious glow of something rising.

“Look at her,”

There was a lovestruck girl obsessively drawing hearts on her note card 

“look at past you.”

Sincere love flowed from her fingertips.

She believed she was loved.

“Do you think she's dumb?”