children if war

Monday 8:27am
I woke up with you on my mind.
You called me babe last night —
my heart is still pounding.

Tuesday 10:53pm
Today I realized we won’t work.
What we are is hurting her.
And I think she matters more to me than you do.

Wednesday 11:52pm
I broke things off with you today.
She barely said a word.
I’ve never regretted anything more than this.

Thursday 4:03pm
I shouldn’t have sent that message.
You shouldn’t have been so okay with receiving it.

Friday 9:57pm
I almost messaged you today.
I didn’t.

Saturday 8:49pm
I’m walking around town in search of alcohol.
They say that liquor numbs the pain of having a broken heart.
I want to put that to the test.

Sunday 2:32am
I heard you texted a girl you’ve never spoken to before.
I wonder if it’s because you’re trying to replace me.
I can’t help but wish you weren’t.
I thought I was irreplaceable.

—  a week with you on my mind, c.j.n.
Let me tell you a story that melted my cold child hating heart

Today at work a little boy came in dressed as Kylo Ren with his family to see Rogue One. The family is going about their business purchasing tickets and concessions, filling their drinks and buttering their popcorn, and I’m just standing in the corner watching this tiny dark side loving little boy. Two of my employees were like “but.. Kylo isn’t even in this movie” and I almost smacked them because who cares. I mean, I’m wearing my BB-8 earrings all weekend so back off. Then it’s finally time for the kid to approach and he whispers something to his dad before handing us the tickets. “Go ahead and tell them,” the dad says. Tiny Kylo: “I’m here to see Darth Vader, my grandpa.” And then I died because that was a level of child cuteness I had never encountered before. I almost cried in front of all my employees, but none of them seemed as moved by this encounter so I held my shit together.

I sincerely hope he enjoyed the movie.

Maybe in ten years from now they’ll make a movie about the world today.

Maybe they’ll make a movie about a father in Syria contemplating whether to kill himself, his wife or his children in a desperate attempt to stop the Regime from getting their hands on them.

Maybe they’ll make a movie about an 8 year old Rohingya boy who was thrown into the fire in front of his mother after his village was set alight.

Maybe they’ll make a movie about a young orphaned girl in C.A.R, crying as she remembers her sexual abuse at the hands of UN “peacekeepers” who do as they please without consequences.

Or maybe they’ll make a movie about a daughter in Gaza who picks up the phone to hear an unfamiliar voice letting her know her family has 60 seconds to run before the bombs drop.

And maybe we’ll see it and shed some tears - but we shouldn’t be crying because of the atrocities that occurred.
We should cry because we watched as these horrors unfolded and in our silence betrayed them.