It is June.
I am tired of being brave.
The nightmares hang like grenades suspended in air and there is never any rest when war is waiting for me when I go to sleep. Peace is a funny thing. I’ve learned that sometimes silence is just the sound of armies preparing for battle. There is another story in the newspaper of a family disappearing into smoke and a country fraying like a blanket that can’t keep anyone safe anymore. What good are hands if there is no one left to reach for? What good are feet if they are always running at the sound of sirens? What a blessing it is for me to fall asleep into the nightmare when others are living it everyday. What a blessing it is to sleep at all anymore when the silence at night could mean anything.