seven billion

 

if i could change anything,

i'd reach my hands into everyone's 

hearts and pluck out the

hatred, and bitterness, and

unwillingness to recognize their own

mistakes.

seven billion people would 

storm the streets and kiss each others

cheeks and there would be 

seven billion apologies ringing

out into the stratosphere.

sons and daughters would grab their

aging parents by the hands and 

take them out for the picnic they always begged 

for, and 

former best friends would pick up the phone 

and call halfway across the world and whisper 

secrets across the ocean,

and they lines might be jammed because

everyone would be calling their exes,

to say "sorry i left," or "sorry i didn't stop you."

in new york city there would be 

eight-point-three million deep inhales

and everyone would feel light again,

and in las vegas everyone would hop in a cab

to the airport, running home 

to say sorry 

to their mothers and fathers and sisters 

and brothers and children and lovers.

everyone in the whole world would laugh

when they realized that they didn't 

mind that their blind date didn't call them back,

and everyone in the whole world would smile

and pay for the coffee of the person behind them

in line at the coffeeshop.

if i could change anything in the world,

i'd just lift the veil from peoples eyes.

they'd realize they were one and the same,

and they'd wonder why

they waited so long with hatred in their hearts.

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