I Fell in Love with Hope

by Lancali

Death is not a being. It is a state of being. We humanize it, demonize it, give it a soul because it is easier to condemn something with a face. Disease is in the same boat, only it’s a lot easier to convict it. Disease has reason. Virus, bacteria, defective cells. Those already have a face. Time doesn’t need a face at all. Time steals openly. Such carelessness on its part is enough to be found guilty. Guilty of what, though? Time, disease, and death don’t hate us. The world and its many shadows are not capable of hate. They simply don’t care about us. They don’t need us. They never made and, as such, never broke any promises. We are mediums through which they play. I call them shadows. Sometimes enemies, although that may be a bit hypocritical. They are mediums through which we play too. Disease is weaponized. It’s profited off of. Humans rarely search to cure diseases. There’s more value in treating someone for the rest of their life than in healing them once. Death is no different. It’s a means to an end, a tool, a toy. With it, the people at the top of the pyramid decide how many will be sacrificed at the bottom. No one is better at killing people than people. Time is different. Chase it, gamble with it. No matter the game, time likes to play because it always wins. But unlike its partners, time can be kind. Or maybe that is an illusion too. Maybe time has teeth only to grin and a voice only for the last laugh. I don’t understand it enough for a concrete answer. I don’...