6.23

I slip the bird out of his hood and release him. He rubs his wings against the air, getting a feel for the friction of the thing. He ripped the air down past him and fired into the air.

I cried.

6.10b

http://likelippincott.blogspot.com/2010/05/514.html

I re-read this post again today. I love it. It sums up completely every reason why I don't want to go to war. AND YET Lord of the Rings and The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe came from experiences in a war. All the way back to the Iliad, the Odyssey, and Beowulf, men's writing has been spawned by war. It is bigger than the author/narrator/characters, and yet intensely personal. It increases the stakes of any actions, and it makes everything more important somehow.

I almost feel like I'm missing out.

6.10

It's mah day off.

Christen has asked me to write poetry on her shoes. I'm thinking of Percy Shelley's _Mutability_.

Lonliness

I always wake up with a knawing lump in the pit of my stomach. During the day, it moves up to right next to my heart and alerts me every time my heart beats wump wump pain. wump wump pain. On the worst days, it wraps around my spine and I know I will die if it doesn't stop soon. At night, it unmercifully leaves me alive to wonder when I'll see her again.

6.4

This is literally the next time I have gotten on the internet. Get ready for a long haul this summer. I might end up going past "d."

His clothes are sodden with sweat, but the slow evaporation doesn't cool him enough. The air has physical weight from all the water hanging in it. He is thirsty even though the air is as moist as his lungs. He sags even though he is walking downhill. He smiles even though he is angry.

The seven-year old boy in front of him turns and pierces laughter at a captured lizard.

His eyes crinkle in a real smile for the first time in a week.

It was worth it.