By Ahmed Latif
In the moment, the mind can find a residual of solace. Yet, in the fierce path of time, all we can muster is the knowledge that there is no weathering this.
At best, our existence is a meandering dream that wanders freely. At worst, we are despots dreaming new ways of oppressing and usurping our republic. Even at our best there is no reaching this meandering dream. This would be too simplistic. Yet at our worst, the republic stands as an amalgamation of everything we once thought then seamlessly abandoned. It stands upon a precipice from which there is often a return. There is always a return.