Cold again, wind in the treetops, high moon, nearly full, sailing through the clouds.

Thinking about little boy thinking about the world, thinking hard, leaning too far out & falling in. All in a rush, filled with its wars without end; its unceasing, merciless torment. Stayed down for quite a while, then pulled himself to shore. Never really the same after.

So what's the fucking body count today? So long since I bothered to even try to keep track. No suffering worse than what any one can suffer, anyway.

Desperate longing for peace, had a taste of that a while back, not deemed fit for it, soldiering on.