I heard the news about some people I knew before deciding whether I was all ears. The information flashed like a comet, growing faster as it approached the sun. I hadn’t seen them in so long that their existences felt like celestial objects just beyond this reality. Was I dreaming? Was it lucid? If I pinched myself hard, would I wake up to a life without those horrendous, inclusive updates?
I have no idea how they are now, but from what I've gathered, they are the same people no more. Some of them are crying, while some are begging for the precarious conditions they used to take for granted. Some are cursing themselves for everything, while others are living with regrets. Who are they now, I wonder? Heads hung low; stripped of the freedom to walk away with dignity. It breaks my heart.
But it also haunts me.
None of this is hearsay. The realization follows me during my ride home from work and my night prayers. I see their stress-induced wrinkles sometimes in the morning, and their falling hair at night. Their shadows spook me like ghosts, punishing me for being as helpless. In my mind, they tell me that I’m as good as their version of a distant celestial object. My binoculars are of no use. They serve as poignant evidence that I do nothing beyond peeking.
I keep hearing news about them before the sun even rises. It moves like a newsboy on a new bike, stopping only to make a delivery. I have only seen a few pictures, and they seem more like a news headline on a stack of thin papers. Why are they so pale? Are they eating well? Are they truly okay?
I have no answer to that. We were never close, to begin with—just a bunch of people calling each other by name; some related by blood. Still, I genuinely hope from the bottom of my heart that they will be okay. Wherever they are, however they are, I hope they’re doing better.
Hang in there. Please.
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