Aren’t we all just here to save each other?

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To put pressure on the wounds and stitch up the flesh and mop up the blood that seeps out of each other’s lives like rainwater from a potted plant; to help sew what’s torn, ice what’s bruised, fill what’s cracked.

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Aren’t we all just here to lower ourselves to the bloodstained ground, look one another in the eyes, humbled and present, and whisper “I feel it too.”

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And as we kneel there together, gripping each other’s hands for dear life and feeling each laceration as if they were our own, we hear the faint sound of music; not yet loud enough to dance, but not quiet enough to sit still. We lean against one another as we push upwards against the weight of our mutual pain, steadied by our closeness and lifted by our oneness.

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We limp slowly and hopefully toward the distant sound, side by side, the drops of blood becoming smaller and the pain becoming lesser as we walk, subtle hip shaking moving us forward as we step out of the shadows, soon to dance wildly like dandelion spores in the sunlight.

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