One day the money was gone. It had been gone for some time. I did not know that, but one day I found out. The sinking feeling was above my childhood intelligence, a drone hovering just above my ken striking with precision and grayed-out calculation.
I welcomed anger after a time, anger at those who pulled from underneath us the threadbare rug we were told could cover our world's floor. We were safe. Then we were not safe. I let this anger live in me and I cherished it, fed it kindling and praised its warmth.
One day, a decade later, the hope of money was gone. I had reconciled the anger long enough to choose a way forward. There was a plan, until Financial Sector Greed swept through my life (and many lives) as a typhoon sweeps upon the beach. I did not know what to do. I still don't. I welcomed despair, let it live in me and wrapped it in swaddling clothes. I cooed to it and let it whisper back to me.
People like to mince words with the Gospel, tsk tsk to you that the love of money is evil, not money itself. But they are made lesser for money's existence and cannot see what parts of themselves have been cut away by a world-sized scalpel. Money is evil; there is no doubt. Systems built upon it are corrupt at their foundations, as the human holding the precious dollar can never mean as much as the dollar itself. If they ever did, the system could not hold.
I do not welcome anger at this opening of the eyes, nor despair at the sights I have learned to see. I have wept what I will weep. The only path to walk is the one pointed toward the end of capital. It is a long walk. There will be no extra energy available for hatred or despair. Only a setting of the jaw and a resolution to step one step before another will do. You can call that love. That's what the death of money will look like. Me, loving you, loving me.