#found journal

[stuckimagination]

I still dream about it. It's crazy, absolutely crazy. I dream of old buddies and places we've been. We were moving all the time.

I've killed civilians. We've never wanted to intentionally. And when I visit there, sometimes I want to go up and turn myself in. Like, "officer I've killed civilians. Here. 20 years ago." They were never ment to be killed. I. . . I wonder often, why me?

Sometimes I tell my little grand boy these stories, mostly of my brothers. But lately. My memory has become a little fuzzy so I began writing them down.

[hazelnotes-blog]

Journal pt. ii

[shapesandcolors]

2 0 0 9.

And we drank these things like candy remember? You'd say, "No way is the top rack gone already." And we'd laugh then do the math... how many did I have again? We were children. We were bored. We were disappointed. Jaded in our prophecies of future time. And we were right to be so wrong but we were children. And this forbidden liquid was our escape as well as our connection with the other side of the bridge. The bridge between childhood and life. So when I feel that familiar taste on the back of my tongue, I remember you. And how glad I was to hold your hand during the realization that the American Dream is as crushable as an aluminum can. -found journal entry from 2009 on the nostalgia of beer, youth, and the inevitable loss of innocence.