A desolate place you see, 

full of death, blood, terror.

The ash and dust everywhere

on wide-eyed childrens faces,

on the cracked windows of a building once strong,

in the air full of unsettled words, screams and chatter and silence.

 

A sunny, happy place you see,

a park, green and blooming on this summer day.

People talking, people laughing, singing just for the joy of it.

A child, maybe six or seven,

Running through the park, her mother, sighing with a weary smile.

She tries to catch a butterfly, her small fingers almost grasping its delicate wings.

 

What separates these two places?

Miles?

Mountains?

Feet?

Forests?

Inches?

Oceans?

No.

Only seconds separates these worlds.