Dying in a a war never stopped wars from happening.
it is all ash and dry leaves and grief gone like an ocean liner.
I walk into the kitchen, look at the typer down there on the floor. It's a dirty floor. It's a dirty typer that types dirty stories
and even the trees we walked under seemed less than trees and more like everything else.
Something that never happens anywhere at any time.
I was in love again. I was in trouble