i had a dream that i was in the middle of a world war. we wore tactical gear and were given the weapons needed to fend for ourselves. i made friends with a girl who taught me how to shoot my pistol. she was beautiful and fearless, as if she knew she would survive this war and had no doubt about it. me, on the other hand, figured i wouldn’t survive. i assumed i didn’t have the skill or the will to survive this war. so i sat in a quiet corner, turning my gun around in my hand. i thought about pointing it to my head. i looked at the end of the gun and i looked at my finger on the trigger and this feeling of complete and utter terror came over me. that if i made that split millisecond decision to point the gun to my skull and pull the trigger, i would be gone. i would be gone forever but i felt as if i needed to keep going, to keep shooting this gun at the enemy. the enemy is not me. the will to survive burns in me like a fire that never dies. i won’t point this gun at my brain. i will keep fucking surviving because the enemy is not. me.
