why do we always want things to be the same?
why do i always find myself dreaming of past self & past love & past friends & past happiness? i guess now it makes sense when light's few & far & trenches are deepest & breath hasn't come easy in months. but still i wish i was old me with old friends & old life & old comfort. i wish i could disappear that night still & the days that roared and shattered my life.
it's funny; i look back to past aches and remember thinking they loomed higher than all the rest. in a lot of ways, i miss them. these days, they look marginal & miniature & pesky. funny how present aches always seem to ache harder & dig deeper & crush soul faster.
tomorrow with the return & the old faces & the night memories & the people in uniforms & their questions all seem too big for crumbling me. now to see what those faces & mouths that broke me will say with their eyes & look with their mouths. & maybe i'll run & they'll think they won & my back will shy forever.
i wish i thought i could win someday.
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