19. I draw no comfort from my own fabrications. No solace from these illusions. The unshakable truth is a constant burden, one that neither conforms to my expectations, nor ceases to astonish. At times, it laps at the recesses of my sanity like waves on a gentle beach, while without without warning the wind will rise, tempests shall awake, and an incomprehensible storm breaks over me.

So to speak, at least. Absolutes are rare in reality, and rarer still here.

These infuriatingly innocent creatures continue to badger me. Their colors remain as bright and illogical as ever, and their demeanor harbor none of the sort that afflict me. If I'm supposed to be lightened by these equine's behavior, I must be failing my cause.

Gott.

These shameless lies - as natural as those great metal beasts we used to watch thunder along the cobblestone road, watching from the false sense of security so objectively provided by our little bunker. Before long, we could discern between the lofty, immaculate reserve machines, and the more, shall we say, down to earth nature of our own unit's metal beasts, more often than not stained with the gore of their passed masters.

How you and I looked up on these great heroes, craning our necks from the mud and filth of the holes we slunk in. Or, perhaps we sheltered ourselves from the storms of man in luxury apartments. Memory is such a fickle mechanism. You and I discussed it in the waning hours of leave, the only sober patrons of that run-down old dump of a bar. At least it was safe, surrounded by one of the few constants of existence - the earth.

I must accept eventualities. Even when they lead to unenviable results.

~