You are lost. The complexities of relationships that should be so straight forward are tough when you find that perception and reality do not intersect. What, then, is there? You spent so much time lamenting over loss that you felt contained no compromise. But now, it is not that way.
It was easier when it was black and white. Straight-up heartbreak felt so much better than this muddy mess of debris in which snakes hide everywhere. You want to cry, but that seems inappropriate. You want to scream in anger, but that betrays the foundation. The void is upon you, and you cower in the wind.
Before the dawn broke, you heard it screaming in the tree tops. You know that you must get up and move on from this scorched and barren spot of earth. Moving directly under fire can be done when the OP4 possesses bullets and bombs. It has been trained upon, one generation after another. But the wind, it will find you the moment you try to move on. It won't care who you are. This mess won't discriminate.
In the timeline of your days, this unrelenting foe that seeps through the cracks and crevices of your shelter, screaming its haunting war cry, is relatively short-lived. That does not matter. Not much can make you feel this small. No matter how hard you try, you cannot even pretend to be immune to this feeling.
Dear one, what have you done? Look at the land for as far as you can see—burned, gone, and sad. This never seemed possible; everything was so much more noble and kind. Sometimes, life is not pretty.
The challenge you now face is, where does this fall in the worst of who you are and who you have been. All that you regret, sitting before this disaster, who wins the bigger prize for the finest crime.
You never dreamed you'd be here. How does this look three years down the road? Did you lose that dear one long ago? Was she ever really here? Today, the wind is crying her name. Over and over. When will it stop?
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