My zeppelin rusted. And my helmet has a hole in the brim that causes the sun to shine in my eyes every day at 2:37pm every single day. Every single fucking day.
I will not complain, no matter the rust or brightness of the sun. Not everyone has a zeppelin. The rust can be taken away with a bit of care, a bit of steel wool and oil. The helmet, well, the hole remains and the sun will remain always.
I can repair the helmet but it is an antique, a relic from a time when then sun likely shone down upon the eyes of the wearer at 2:37pm every single day. Every single fucking day. So through that hole my eyes are his eyes and but for a moment I see what he saw, or so I can imagine.
History is what we hold in our hands. And in what we hold in our hands we can grasp as our future.
Or so I can imagine. Every single day.
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