No justice. No peace. 

I heard the words Social Justice spoken out loud today. When was the last time that happened? When was the last time I had a meaningful conversation? 

Hearing the words Social Justice struck a cord. It felt great to hear. It felt like a good memory. Of a time when I cared. Of a time when I was surrounded by others.. haha. Surrounded by Others. Our activisty counter-culture. Our fists were raised. Our organization. Our secrecy. Everyday was a fight. Next time I get a Sunday call from APU, I’ll answer the phone. And I’ll tell them about the good ol’ days. And I’ll ask if I can donate specifically to the LGBTQ and undocumented students. 

This last weekend we rode with the AIDSRIDE/Lifecycle. I overheard (eavesdropped) registration for the ride was down. As if there was a sense of defeat. And here I thought the election results turned us up. The march is three sleeps away and there is good talk about attending. So, which is it? Are we revved up? Are we giving up? Do we just need time. Time heals all wounds?

I don’t want all my wounds to heal. I want to keep some fresh.  Just some. An unhealthy balance of PTSD and fuel. 


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