Hate seems a searing, smoldering thing - an undying death of bearing and shouldering up. It's a puff of powder, a strobe of night, when snuffed by eternal delight in Almighty Love. If we only didn't have to travel through the unraveling of time to get there.
What would I pack, if I only had moments? Each instant a panoply of choices, laboring through nightmarish voices and priority schemes, could I arrive at what I need? Yes. Them. But, God, would I even remember to take water for my toddler? What comforts would I forsake for my son? What curses would I utter in those desperate, teflon seconds as the mystery of every unforeseen heartbreak pressed in at the speed of terminal velocity? Less time than I have to read this: Run!
You found some bones in a cave, and I'm proud of you. Let me ask: Is it a graveyard or a crime scene? While we dally over links to the past, we evict the present as jetsam. What if we dare to bestow the title human on these barely human creatures but in accepting the notion refuse to grace millions with the same dignity - who deserve it by right, whether evolutionary or not. My pride has its limits.