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November 8, 2010
Blank.

Like a notebook with the pages torn out. There is no space for new information, and there is no old information to rely on. This is what happens to me when I am peaceful. I hate it.x

"You are never content. You thrive on crisis."

Wretched truth. Is my existence to never be happy unless I'm miserable? Am I like that lost warrior, blood-stained sword dragging in the dust as I try to find my way back home after the war, only to realize war was my home?

Soldier, what do you do with all those memories?