My world is in trouble of having its children consumed by the same things that ate the heart of past societies, when man and machine alike built the sort of future that cannot permit the perks of loving another human being, of just making things work and of telling one another that the world gets empty when they leave your side. Love me when I’m alone, leave me together and within our times of clarity, we may get to hold each other like no one does. To pass the time and heal our wounds of eons and eons of careless wars we’ve fought in order to achieve humanity once more and face away from the sun making itself obsolete. I’m afraid I won’t get to meet you, son, but rest easy knowing that if you find yourself smiling one lovely autumn night, it would be an honour to have given you at least the time to care. I couldn’t raise you well, my sweet innocent daughter, I had to fight myself for you to stop fighting the others and give them space and everything under. I know I wasn’t there, for I alone was over here, watching youth revealing itself as it never did – powerful as a thousand armies and useless as eternity. Forgive me mother for I have sinned in order to forget, as you have forgotten in order to forgive. Look at me father, I am your son. The apple fell from the tree, the walls that you built, I destroyed, the crops that you burned, I filled with good intentions and poppy seeds. Just watch me go and let me be, my show is just beginning, yours I must build a stage for, so you may act like good creations once more. My world is in trouble of never understanding itself, or myself, or why it might have been better if no one invented the wheel in the first place. We’re not moving too fast but only unfastened our demise and our disappearance. My world.