Why aren’t there enough revolutions?
I want to meet the first revolution and ask her if it was bearable?
Was it easy to bring people together from different understanding and beliefs as they turned up in a huge masses against another?
What was it like to sit in the corner of a rusty old building, under the open sky and listen to people who care about things that actually matter?
Were there buildings?
How did it feel to see humanity on the roads, going against their own kind?
I want to ask her about things she couldn’t understand or things she ignored in the blinding light of unprecedented power. The power of leading men and masses of hungry eyes lusting over the thought of justice instead of a gender, for first time in history.
I want her to tell me how and why it didn’t work.
Why it didn’t last and who won?
I want to hear her thoughts on biting remarks of claimed lovers who let her down, who flourished through her. Flesh that ate her womb so that no other revolution can be born.