Audio version read by George Atherton

My dearest Revolution,

How I miss you in my life. I remember clearly letting you slip away, thinking to myself it would be alright. But as the days and weeks turned into months and then years, I find myself searching for you time and time again. I swear I catch glimpses of you in different places, but they are just fleeting, teasing illusions.

From time to time I see your friend Discontent stirring up protests, and I think you must not be far behind. But the violence he stirs up is often aimless and misguided, merely attempting to disrupt, with no hope for a lasting change. I watched the mobs protest at the G8 meeting in Genoa and my heart beat a little bit faster watching their pure energy, feeling you must be there to lead them forward to a better world. But the protesters were herded up at night, pushed away, knocked back time and time again, and one was even shot. And then it was over. The stage was gone; the world was left unchanged.

I forgive you for your infidelity with Fidel. After all, at the time he certainly needed you. And anyone, anything, was better than what they had. Even from afar, that affair rocked the world: The passion you gave to each other left us awestruck. But like so many others, once he got what he wanted he pushed you away, beyond the reach of those who once breathlessly gasped your name.

Still I watch the politicians blithely ignore the will of their people, certain that your name must be remembered. I sit up straighter, my breath ragged, thinking of how things will change once your presence is felt. When I realize you are nowhere to be found, I sag back into my seat.

But I haven’t abandoned all hope: I still look for you.

I was sure I’d get a glimpse of you when oil filled the Gulf of Mexico. I was sure the environmentalists would join forces with the natives to call you out and demand change. But the lawyers got there first. I wept bitter tears when instead of demanding change, they demanded money. Twenty billion dollars – the price we have finally put on the environment. Between you and me, it’s way too low.

Your appearances have been so rare and fleeting these days that people have forgotten what you look like. Everyone is pretending that they’re somehow in league with you. Even cars claim to be “revolutionary” now. Gadgets, too. They use your favorite color – wet, blood red – to get our attention. But when the ad agencies mimic you, it only makes me miss you more.

Revolution, I need you back. I cannot stand another day without you. I want everyone to feel the passion you bring out in me: the longing for a better world.

Come back, darling. Please. I need you.

All my love,

—S