There are some battles not worth fighting.

Heaven is only a fingertip away; you could smell the dew and the sweet scent of mint from here. Expansive, rows of green-heads, fluffy like cotton candy clouds, divided by a stream that reflects the purple mist in the sky. Amidst, there is a single metal protrusion that pierces sharply through the heavens, adding a soft hum amongst the cooing of owls.

Suddenly, a light sound of static and a faint tune from a music box emits from the telegraph. Haunting melody of a Russian folk song, traditionally sung by children. Have you heard this melody somewhere?

Chills, like light quakes on your skin, radiate down the middle column of your back, dissipating at your coccyx. A light, soft breeze in laminar flow through your light hair, brushing it away from your face and tickling your ears.

Sit cross-legged and keep your eyes open. Feel the cool pebbles peel from your feet as you readjust your posture to watch the gentle, yet evanescent turmoil that flows slowly in front of you.

Pay no attention to the noises you might hear behind you and focus your thoughts forward. Allow no one in your dimension, no matter how much it pains you to abandon the rest of you.

Tune out the guns, the screaming of children and women being tortured, and the sounds of crushing rock and bones. Ignore the smell of gunpowder, blood, sweat and burning paper. Attune your body to ignore the sharp, aching and cold lightning impulses that pierce through you in repetition like you’re having your halves being stitched together by a sewing machine. You are whole. You are elusive. You are you.

Sit tight.

Have your only moment.

And fuck the world.