Wednesday.
I'm wounded
Not a defence force, not a peacekeeper
I'm a fighter, offended, offensive, hurt, it's cold as in Lapland and my brigade is getting tired.
The scars from the past remain, slowly _but so slowly I can hardly notice_fading away
The memories
The letters they wrote to keep me alive, distracted, away from the scent of pollution in this town's air.
I'm at crossroads. Left right left right. The commander says ten miles forward, but I can't progress.
Muscle pain.
Eating disorder.
As the night approaches, I'll explain how this ends
Because right now, I'm just waiting for your Good morning.
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