Even The Ones You Love Are Terrorists

The feeling of terror is initially unexpected and brutally intrusive.

And then it becomes tragically familiar as you assimilate the heightened signs that descend like a forecasted storm.

It almost escapes you but eventually dials its way back.

Strangers with guns to shoot and kill, straddle your bullet ripped carcass for signs of currency. They are helplessly abhorrent.

The extremists with suits of armor ready to emit body parts into the clear blue sky have a mission that is beyond the scope of human acceptance.

But when the ones who trail you with love and devotion, dissolve your world with one word, sentence or silence.

When they listen with their lips and talk with their ears while pretending to adhere to the basics of the bond you share.

When the pain that pierces through your soul is unnoticed and glazed over for the shock of a favor at your expense.

When the tide turns against you and washes over the sacrifice that can’t be met, but tosses you into their bid of disdain even as you plead for mercy.

When the lights go out and you wonder how to dream without the anchor of safety that was meant to keep you from sinking.

When the morning light streams your thoughts as you pray to recognize the ones you know because you see them too clearly.

The bomb goes off.

You nimbly clutch your still beating heart as the parts of you disperse to the corners you chose for the day when being whole won’t be enough.

There is no blood. Just the leaking of tears.

And the silence of a future lovingly slaughtered and repaired.

The cycle of of your mislabeled tradition continues…

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