"War is a forge that gives us meaning."

Make your choice.

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Don't know what to do.
What to say.
What to feel.

I guess I've been left.
If you can leave before something ever really starts, or as we say "resolves".

It was in slow-motion.
And there were bursts of hope.

But...this seems clear.


I have my music again and my voice.
I count myself lucky for those.

I won't be able to shake the conviction that we could've done well for each other.
And I don't want to.
Because that kind of hope is why I keep going.


I'll worry about her.
And wonder.
And miss.

But now I go.

Because that's the only thing I can think to do when actions have so repeatedly told me that's what is wanted.
But I'll worry.
And wonder.
And miss.


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