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You’re acting like you share a secret language all of a sudden.” “Isn’t that always the case with those who’ve read the same books?”
A chill trickles over my skin as I see the world through the pulseArmor’s lenses. Even if I loathe war, my body thrills to its rituals like a drunk hearing the clink of ice into a whiskey tumbler.
Moments such as this are the forge of legends.
We achieve perfection first by acknowledging our failures. We increase understanding first by recognizing our ignorance.
That season of life is a haze to him, but when I die and reflect on my life, I know I will still believe that season was the meaning of mine.
As the door closes behind him, I think on the stupidity of war. How ridiculous we must be to wage it when emotions like love run so much deeper in us than hate.
Maybe that is why we wage war, because bugs don’t and angels do.
“Hic sunt leones!” they echo and we pound metal.
When I die, whenever that day comes, I will hear the wind that howls like a wolf and know I am home.
