To Understand The World, One’s Place In

The War Tried To Kill Us In The Spring. As Grass Greened The Plains Of Nineveh And The Weather Warmed, We Patrolled The Low-slung Hills Beyond The Cities And Towns. We Moved Over Them And Through The Tall Grass On Faith, Kneading Paths Into The Windswept Growth Like Pioneers. While We Slept, The War Rubbed Its Thousand Ribs Against The Ground In Prayer.

All Pain Is The Same. Only The Details Are Different.

The Details Of The World In Which We Live Are Always Secondary To The Fact That We Must Live In Them.

I Understand That It's Incredibly Difficult To Watch What's Happening On The News Every Day And Not Become Inured To It. I've Fallen Victim To That Myself, Wanting To Look Away.

I Wanted Something That I Could Look Back On And Say, Yes, You Were Fighting Too, You Burned To Be Alive, And Whatever Failure Or Accident Of Nature Caused You To Be Killed Could Be Explained By Something Other Than The Fact That I'd Missed Your Giving Up.