I Know.
subtitles.
He feels alone sometimes.
You can’t possibly imagine. There are six billion humans on this planet. Six billion lives, stories, six billion loses and gains and six billion inspirations and aspirations. Someone loses every day, and two people win for them, and three people can’t possibly imagine life like who they are, and four people don’t even know they’re alive anymore. Five are too blind and six are too deaf. Seven are dead and eight are mourning, nine are breathing and 10 don’t want to anymore.
Stop.
He’s not sure what it means. This dancing of dust motes, and the small drag of a fly through the air. He’s not sure what cities mean, what trees and grass mean, what every single house, lamppost and pavement means. He knows that this is possibly the definition of life, this abbreviated version of all that is. These atoms and molecules, these clouds and these skies, these hills and these mountains – these monsters and angels of the earth. They are a small part of something he cannot hope to define.
Sometimes, six billion people aren’t enough.
He wonders, as he hangs from a beautifully unpainted bridge, how six billion people can exist and it only takes one. He wonders how six billion people can exist, and how a single one cannot be seen. He wonders how, if six billion people can exist, the buildings have fallen.
He wonders how six billion people can exist, and just pass by each other.
A person is so, so much. A person is a dream, a string of thoughts, wishes and doubts, fears and hates and things they love straight to their core. A singular word simply shouldn’t exist that can generalise every single excruciatingly different human being out there. ‘People’, ‘person’, ‘human’ shouldn’t push everyone together, make them one. They cannot dream, think and feel the same, they do not fear and hate the same, they do not breathe to the same extent and they do not cry to the same, they cannot possibly love to the same, and they’ll certainly never see the same.
He knows if he goes, he’ll be the someone to lose today. He knows they’ll be two more born to replace him, and three more who can’t anymore, he knows they’ll be four people who can’t even bring themselves to breathe, and five and six who are too blind and deaf to the beauty around them. Seven will join him and eight will become three, nine will keep going and 10 will, too, and they’ll hate it.
Sometimes, he’s not sure what he’s doing. And sometimes, six million people are too much.
You can’t possibly imagine. There are six billion humans on this planet. Six billion lives, stories, six billion loses and gains and six billion inspirations and aspirations. Someone loses every day, and two people win for them, and three people can’t possibly imagine life like who they are, and four people don’t even know they’re alive anymore. Five are too blind and six are too deaf. Seven are dead and eight are mourning, nine are breathing and 10 don’t want to anymore.
Stop.
He’s not sure what it means. This dancing of dust motes, and the small drag of a fly through the air. He’s not sure what cities mean, what trees and grass mean, what every single house, lamppost and pavement means. He knows that this is possibly the definition of life, this abbreviated version of all that is. These atoms and molecules, these clouds and these skies, these hills and these mountains – these monsters and angels of the earth. They are a small part of something he cannot hope to define.
Sometimes, six billion people aren’t enough.
He wonders, as he hangs from a beautifully unpainted bridge, how six billion people can exist and it only takes one. He wonders how six billion people can exist, and how a single one cannot be seen. He wonders how, if six billion people can exist, the buildings have fallen.
He wonders how six billion people can exist, and just pass by each other.
A person is so, so much. A person is a dream, a string of thoughts, wishes and doubts, fears and hates and things they love straight to their core. A singular word simply shouldn’t exist that can generalise every single excruciatingly different human being out there. ‘People’, ‘person’, ‘human’ shouldn’t push everyone together, make them one. They cannot dream, think and feel the same, they do not fear and hate the same, they do not breathe to the same extent and they do not cry to the same, they cannot possibly love to the same, and they’ll certainly never see the same.
He knows if he goes, he’ll be the someone to lose today. He knows they’ll be two more born to replace him, and three more who can’t anymore, he knows they’ll be four people who can’t even bring themselves to breathe, and five and six who are too blind and deaf to the beauty around them. Seven will join him and eight will become three, nine will keep going and 10 will, too, and they’ll hate it.
Sometimes, he’s not sure what he’s doing. And sometimes, six million people are too much.
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