things, in the general and vague sense that that word conveys, are dead or so it seems.
but you don't have binoculars that are strong enough to see on the distant hillside a small spark being nursed by a crouched-over man who has intelligently placed it in a sea of dry embers. Blowing softly, whooosh, whoosh, this is silent work that goes on unnoticed (except the binoculars, fuck yeah!) but it is the work that sustains a heat in a cold inhuman steel so that one day the spring is possible again.
These pursuits are quixotic and opinions differ on the nobility of them but to those who simply see breathing as life giving and also something happening thousands of times a day it is nothing, nothing at all.
And slowly the flame grows, phoenix-like, until the whole world of which we speak is alive again. And what is life? How is something alive? Are people hugging? Is friendship in the air? Have the doubters shut the fuck up and eaten the shit sandwiches that didn't even need to be prepared for them because they naturally fermented in the right places?
It's a lonely pursuit, but we're always breathing so why not nurse the flame, the spark, the ember, remember sine waves from high school math? Shit ebbs and flows, don't even look to the tide for confirmation of that.
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