‘Tis an odd feeling to be waiting, expectantly, for something that might arrive soon enough, or may quite possibly remain distant and beyond everyone’s reach. I talk, or course, of continuance, the onward journey of thee and me, or us all, to whatever future was intended before our world began to crumble, to disassemble, to devolve before our eyes.
I remember the past quite clearly, perhaps not exactly as in was, but close enough to be able to create legends and myths about the happenstances, the hopes and dreams we all shared for a future better than had ever preciously been known. Do you remember exactly when things changed, when fear and panic took over from hope and tranquility? The day when our tomorrows took on the persona of nightmares rather than the joyous visions that yesterday had always promised.
Much of our past optimism came from willing ignorance, our ability to recognize the good progress bestows, but ignore the evils that accompany each slight, superfluous, oft redundant progression.