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📓 Friday, September 12, 7:02 p.m.
Today was different.
I didn’t want to do anything, and I acted on it.
No pushing, no forcing sales, no chasing results.
Just errands:
• Bought some cases
• Picked up Simba’s (my cat) medication
• Panda Express
• A nap under the shade of a tree in the parking lot
That nap—breeze on my face, shadows covering me—was my only desire.
Why did I want it? I don’t know.
Three days ago was my sister’s birthday.
A day later, Charlie Kirk died. A man I never met, a man I rarely agreed with.
Today, I thought about his death.
My father played his phone on speaker:
“He was racist. A mouthpiece for Trump. He got what he asked for.”
Then he told my mother: “It’s not an excuse for murder, but you can’t say hateful things and not expect something back.”
I told my mom: I don’t agree.
I don’t agree with my father.
I don’t agree with all of Charlie Kirk’s ideology either.
But I believe this:
No matter what words hurt you, you can walk away.
I choose empathy—even if Charlie said he didn’t believe in it.
I believe in it.
I believe in dialogue.
I believe in middle ground.
Your existence, your lifestyle, your choices are yours.
They don’t need to chain me to hate.
This ride is momentary.
Charlie Kirk was here, mic in hand.
Before he could set it down, he was gone.
Back to the place we all came from.
Back to the place we don’t remember.
His immortal soul.
A young man gone.
One day I’ll be gone.
And you will join too.
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