We build anyway. We write the poem anyway. We record the lullaby anyway. We light the candle in the rose window’s glow, even as we hear the ticking.
You do not remember the explosion. You remember the silence that follows. The dust motes floating in the sunbeam where a wall used to be. The single teacup left unbroken on the edge of the rubble. The way a man in a hard hat sits down on the curb and removes his glasses, even though he isn't crying, because he can't quite figure out how to breathe.
For 2.4 seconds, the Gothic masterpiece held its breath. Then, it folded into itself.
They take a second.
It is precious because it is ephemeral. It is sacred because the timer is already running.
We build anyway. We write the poem anyway. We record the lullaby anyway. We light the candle in the rose window’s glow, even as we hear the ticking.
You do not remember the explosion. You remember the silence that follows. The dust motes floating in the sunbeam where a wall used to be. The single teacup left unbroken on the edge of the rubble. The way a man in a hard hat sits down on the curb and removes his glasses, even though he isn't crying, because he can't quite figure out how to breathe.
For 2.4 seconds, the Gothic masterpiece held its breath. Then, it folded into itself.
They take a second.
It is precious because it is ephemeral. It is sacred because the timer is already running.