A lot can happen in 60 seconds.
A child's first breath, a bullet grazing a bystander.
The thundering crack of an IED on the battlefield, a champion's broken resolve.
Her fear when she was finally caught, his agony when his eyes were brutally honest.
In under 60 seconds, the race could be won.
The entire world could be lost.
When the first tear breaks free, so does the hope of return. Smudges and stains that never go away. Skid-marks and scars that bore new knowledge, recycled, regurgitated, and at last discarded. Like scraps of paper thrown away after failed attempts at love, whatever that is.
Thorns of the past dig deep underneath skin, curl up on the inside and cling to weakness like parasites.
There’s a light at the end of the tunnel, they say.
What if I don’t see the light? What if I’ve spent years in the dark? How would you know if there is a light at all? How would you know that there’s something else besides cold, damp walls that circle around me and suffocate me from the inside out?
You don’t. It only took 60 seconds to figure it out.