Hatred must be a hard thing to learn.
I can't understand why dark northern soldiers and light ones are seperated into different brigades. The dead are all buried together in hasty mass graves, bones touching.
Can it be true that freedom only exists when it is a treasure, shared by all?
If we knew how to find the lost, we would know how to rediscover the parts of our minds left behind in battle.
The child tells me her grandmother showed her how to cure sadness by sucking the juice of an orange, while standing on a beach. Toss the peels onto a wave. Watch the sadness float away.
