I’m here (2)

The four billion of my childhood have nearly doubled and I’m one of them—me, who was not meant to be. Only chance and a chain of circumstances, time and place, are responsible for my breathing the air of others. Alter any of these and the very thought of my existence would be erased.

Four billion I could not imagine have nearly doubled and I’m one of them, excreting my own stain of pollution, knowing that, had medicine not been what it was in 1973, I would’ve been nothing but a wish in the mind of a widower. Today, at seven point six billion, I want fresh soil to fill my mouth, instead of an apology for being here.