It’s happening. The spring has just broken through the rock.
The trickle is steady.
Muzzling it now with an old cloth will make it sputter but not stop. Cementing the leak won’t stop it too. There is no stopping water.
There will soon be a flood. Brace yourselves.
Open secrets will now just be open, not secret.
Sorry, but this is going to hurt. This is the time for an outpouring of words. Many who who long needed to get their brogues wet, their shirts damp, their trousers soggy, will get their due.
My little story is not too ‘trivial’ for ‘the conversation’. No, my tale is not tainting ‘the discourse’. For there is no such thing. There is nothing civilised about it. It is a flood on a one-way street and it is flowing; you can shout back at it but sand bags never stopped a flood. Let it gather, let it flow. It will sweep everyone in its wake.
I’m sorry, it’s going to hurt.
Don’t curb my words. Don’t do it. I’ve just started speaking, let me speak. It could be small, it could be big.
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