At War

||19. The Nineteenth||

Saturday, XXXX 

(Pretty sure it is not, I'm messing up the days, even in my head)

Remember, when we were real young, and your Ma took us to that fair downtown, and we wanted to ride on that Ferris wheel but couldn't? We never had enough money then. I'm thinking, we are both in the army now, there must be some payment and some money left when we go home. I'll tell you this, the first thing I do after is to climb that Ferris wheel next time it comes. I do not give a damn that I look foolish, or that I go with kids half my age. No, I want to do that. All these people here have taught me this, happiness is not really about being one of those high- collared folks that strut through town like they own it (though maybe, they do). But, you get me. Money is important - sure, it does not precisely buy comfort, but it does help you buy stuff that bring you comfort, and subsequently, joy. But simple things make people happy too. Like that Ferris wheel. I woke up dreaming about it. We were there, you and I and – would you believe it – Unni, and it was warm and bright and the sunset painted the west sky a blood red while the eastern twinkled with merry stars. It's a sweet dream, and I loved it. And after, I think we might have stopped by that hoopla stall where you always won everything, and this time, we nearly put the man out of business. Ah, such wonderful dreams. Wonder why I woke up?

I even wrote it out on that list. It's such a sorry thing now, I want to throw it away. But mostly, you know, I love the idea that I might go home, that there might be something left. Remember that one-legged man three blocks away, the one with the thousand mile stare and snarling lips. I think, after this, I will end up like that. I only hope my family realizes what is wrong with me and run the hell away before they get too hurt.

Sincerely yours,

The Soldier.