In my removed from the world room, I am glad you are there, veteran. I am glad to know you are in a room somewhere armed and silently bleeding. It's good to know that you know that no one will understand you. No one will know your wordless panic and empty stepping, slow moving desperation. You are alone but not alone. You are crowded in with ppl who are alive yet who have not lived.
You have been cast adrift in a sea of humanity and are stranded invisibly. You are not alone. My fist hit the wall as yours did tonight. My phone did not ring as yours did not. The scars of my knowledge and regret are rising off my flesh as yours are. I know you're out there in my night as I am out there in yours. Doesn't matter if you've seen war or not. There are many ways to see too much. Experience comes back around to trap you in its claustrophobic, vast abyss.
Those who want to be close only make you feel threatened. You like them, so you don't want them to get a glimpse of the horrific clarity with which you perceive. How you see the end of the story at the beginning and go along with it anyway until the pain becomes so all-consuming that all you can do is sit alone and wait for it to pass.
When you live as a warrior, you don't think that dying as one would take this long and be dragged out with such agonizing, dishonorable tameness. The minutes alive humiliate. The days mock and the voices fill you with rage. Wear it silently and walk on. Keep moving up the trail. Stay inside the treeline and never give yourself up because the natives are grotesque in their friendliness. They will kill you and you will go out worthless. Alone is the only way to walk the line and you know it.
(Or perhaps I'm reading too much into your simple question.
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