Time To Get Real

Old Times

I a tired, but I avoid sleep. regardless of my responisiblities. I miss the Old Old Times, when night and day meant nothing, and hunting was a freedom, a joy. I smiled then, when I had cause to smile. I wore no mask. I was open, and my intentions were clear. I practiced no deception, and I loved. Once.

But now this scar-tattered body has reason to be hidden, and to become guarded when once I might have welcomed openness. My only solace is that the path ahead is well-worn. That others have seen what I must see, come back again.

Hope is the last illusion I allow myself to cling to.