It was true that there were still some beautiful things left to see in the new world.
You could look close and crop out the disease and decay.
But eventually you had to pull back and acknowledge the truth.
Everything was desiccated.
It had been the driest month in the history of months.
It felt like we were stuck and yet at the same time somehow spinning uncontrollably toward something bad.
A friend texted me an article about a celebrity from our high school who was now appearing in the right-wing media. We speculated about how many people we knew who were drifting rightward or perhaps had always been there.
Stephen and I argued about whether the youth deserved to be so ambivalent. I blamed the Democrats for not giving them anything to hope for; he said that they still needed to be more pragmatic about the alternative.
We agreed that, barring a welcome surprise, we were about to find out what that alternative looks like.
I thought about a conversation I had recently with a gay niece about what's in store. We agreed that we (by virtue of being US citizens who are white and cisgender) are not at the top of the Republican hit list, but we felt certain that we are on the list. But we also agreed that there's something liberating about being hated for who you are. It means you can stop pretending.
As I circled the track, I thought about people I once knew and loved, and how wrong I was.
'Come kill me,' I whispered to the disappearing sun. 'It's what you've always wanted.'
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