Today I saw a ghost, diary.
It looked like the lost souls of my heart.
In the great war, as selfish human turned upon selfish human, lost in the blind red mist of rage and warefare, ultimately innocents and civilians were hurt; as they always are. As is inevitable. The innocents were the loved ones who kept me tethered to hope and reality, the ones who put a smile on my face and made me think fighting all of it - all of them - were worth it. That good would be rewarded with good, love rewarded with love, in the final end.
Blood. Bones. Brains. Blistered. Bruised. Burned.