I remember
Every detail. Not because I want to.
But because when a tree gets a deep gash, it's still there years later, long after it's grown.
I remember how the walls of our house shook. I remember taking cover with my siblings. I remember staying quiet and clean and unseen.
I remember hiding in the corners until my parents emerged. Red-eyed, sunken expressions. Concluding the battle--but not the war.
It lasted for years and we didn't know whose side we were meant to be on. I remember the distinct feeling of the soil in the middle of the troops. But, I don't know if they saw me there.
The white flags were burned or muddied or used for bandages. Sometimes, we had to place them over our scrapes.
And then, it ended. Not once, but many times. Weapons were redrawn after peace agreements had been signed.
We knew what to do. We knew where to take shelter.
I saw too much of it. The blood. The loss.
Of course, I remember it. But my time is spent better now, forgetting it.
