They were like you.
They worried, they hoped, they dreamed, they wished. They cried, they laughed, they loved, they lusted. They joked, they prayed, they studied, and they skived. They were like me. They had insecurities, they had fears. They had weekly family phone calls and inside jokes. They had thighs that were too big and boobs that were too small and muscles that seemed non-existent. They had loved ones and acquaintances and enemies and best friends. They were lonely, they were loved, they were happy, they weren't. They were like us. They were bright, they were passionate. They were lazy, they were ambitious. They had futures, and possibilities and expectations. They had names, and birthdays, and anniversaries, and scars and stretchmarks and bitten nails and dark skin. They were young, and they were beautiful. They are the wail of their mothers, the anger of their fathers, the weakness of their grandmothers legs. They are the emptiness in the hearts of their lovers, the frozen memories in the minds of their friends. They are a break in this country, a gap in its future, a piece missing from its foundation. They are each worth more than a passing statistic in a headline. They are worth a vigil, worth a movement, worth a riot, worth a war. They should be here. Every last one of them. And they will be remembered.
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Annie LilygreenA collection of ramblings about things that inspire me. Archives
September 2015
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