By now you know the details.
Explosion at an Ariana Grande concert in Manchester, UK.
Word spreads as fans flee in confusion, terror, fear.
Hold your breath and hope it’s just a false alarm, an equipment malfunction perhaps.
And then we learn it’s what we feared.
A willful slaughter of fun-loving innocents.
Bloodshed and tragedy and weeping and despair…
And all the words just leave.
Hollow, is what I am. Every time this happens, this is what it feels like. (And this is what I think they feel like — until dread reality crashes in and they wake up.)
Because there are no words to describe or explain.
All the people — pundits, politicians, preachers — try to make sense of it. But all the words and feelings and thoughts just blur. There is no distinction.
We were not made to fathom these dark depths, to contain them, to grasp them.
This is death the world cannot contain. Their blood will cry out for eons and eons and forever. Their tears will scream across the immeasurable depths of space and pain the ears of extraterrestrials (if they are out there).
But our world spins on, and on, and on…
And soon we will turn away our eyes…
But — for this — the world should stop.