meeting is impossible, we think sometimes,
in those weak moments at 3am where we just want to hold and be held,
where our voices are tired and tiny and we are missing people we do not know,
where time is dragging on and every second away is more painful than the next,
where we can't shut our minds off to save ourselves from the endless abyss of wondering,
where sight is suddenly not good enough,
and where we get greedy: we want sight, smell, touch, we want it all.
but... but.
we should remain optimists to the best of our abilities.
there has been a man on the moon,
sons come home from war to crying wives and mothers every day,
there is a planet where it rains glass,
and lennon wasn't as much of a visionary as everyone made him out to be.
pearl harbor was blown almost to smithereens,
capone was arrested (the charges were not murder),
and my brother's grandmother died of old age even though she smoked another cigarette that day.
impossible seems silly, all things considered,
and that gives me a little bit of hope for us,
for maybe we are impossible too.