I can only tell you that you will never be satisfied with this explanation.
You are looking for a permission-scale.
An absolution.
I am only willing to offer you a truth that sets no one free.
An obligation.
You have not expected.
This invitation,
slid under the door
along the linoleum of your aging kitchen.
My words-
A noxious gas,
A mix of chemicals that grow appendages,
claw open
your eyes,
sear your nostrils and retinas,
and scorch themselves as cave markings
In your memory.
We are not spared the knowledge.
A duty is ours to accept, always.
But even if the duty is kicked out into the cold winter evening, the door slammed in its face, and the locks fastened in a chilled finality-
The shouts of what we leave outside
will echo.
