The fire dies out and the world moves on. Everything gets swept away as the latest act of pre-meditated violence unfolds in another part of the country. The ruins of the police substation are bulldozed and the remaining lot is turned into a high-end organic grocery store, beginning a wave of property tax increases that force the surrounding low-income families out of their homes. You find people that sympathize with your ideology, but they're all so fucked up on their own through the countless years of cultural programming that everything falls apart before it begins. The riots never come. Your one night of taking action begins to look foolish as more time passes.
You never truly smile or laugh anymore. The difference between sleep and being awake starts to blur, the difference between death and being alive starts to blur. The burden of simply being is the extent of all that you feel. Killing yourself only brings more of the same, nothing.
That word is what you become thankful for, what you hope for. The word that sits behind the wheel of the minivan as it waits for you to cross the street, the word you say back when a stranger on the sidewalk passes by and says hello. It's the word you hang your jacket on in the evening as you loosen your tie from a long day at the office. It's the word you know will be next to you in the morning, the word that will truly know you as you take your last, labored breath in the assisted living facility. It's the word that you worship, it's the word that you fear, it's the word that you fuck, it's the word that you cry in times of duress. It's the only word that you know.