Dear Democracy,
You’re still breathing.
But it’s shallow now.
Mechanical.
Like the rhythm has been outsourced to machines,
and no one remembers how you used to sing.
Your heartbeat is faint.
Your voice – barely audible.
But we lean in close,
because we need to hear you say one more time:
“We the people…”
We’ve been here before.
You’ve always been fragile.
You were born from protest and contradiction,
baptized in ink and blood,
nurtured by men who wrote about freedom
while owning other humans.
But still –
you grew.
You stumbled.
You evolved.
You let more people into the room.
You tried.
Until lately.
The infection set in quietly.
It started with apathy.
Then cynicism.
Then suppression disguised as security.
Then truth decay.
Then the big lie,
and the bigger lie,
and the normalization of the absurd.
And now –
the machines beep.
The nurses check vitals.
And half the family is already talking about pulling the plug.
But we’re not giving up on you yet.
Because we remember when your breath filled arenas.
When people waited hours to vote – and called it joy.
When protests flooded streets in your name.
When truth and transparency weren’t punchlines.
We remember when you meant something.
And we want to believe you still can.
So please, if you can hear us,
squeeze our hand.
Blink once for courage.
Twice for hope.
You’re not alone in this room.
There are millions of us still here –
exhausted, but awake.
Cynical, but not numb.
Angry, but anchored.
We are your oxygen now.
Love,
The Radical Left