"Now they say I told the truth"

"Life beyond the burden of proof:
Paper thin blue skies and windless fields"

I am in a quiet place. Heavy, greybluegreen, soft, but of such weight. I don't stagger under it, but my muscles burn keeping it aloft.

I am not what I should be. I am far from where I need to go, and the map is so hard to read without my glasses. "Strange how hard it rains now..."

Ok, enough with the self serving illusions. It feels odd to write about the personal when the outer world demands so much attention, just to grasp what's really going on. Well, it doesn't feel odd, it feels frivolous, self-serving. Yech. Also yech is my difficulty feeling compassionate towards the more...jingoistic of my aquiantanceship. I tend to just want to grab them by the throat and force them to look at pictures of 'collateral damage', or scream at them about the ill-conceived, illogical arguements they've blindly accepted as an excuse for this...."Jade? Jade! We're over here, girl! Come back to us!"

Sorry about that. See what I mean, though? My reactions of anger are as ill-justified as those of the people who call me traitor for marching against the war. Neither of us have the right to that anger. "Every Man and Woman is a Star."

(Slap) Alright. Can I have a non-political paragraph now, please? Thank you.

My gods...I can't think of anything to say.

Fade to black.

Jade

"It's so hard to listen to a hard, hard heart..."

I don't really have the time for this right now, but hopefully once I've gotten it out of my system I'll start having a better day.

Getting it out of my system is an apt phrasing.

When I was a little girl, I was told that it was ok to disagree, but to do it in a way that didn't hurt anyone's feelings. I was told that no one was any better than anybody else. I was told being kind was more important than showing everyone that they were wrong and you were right.

Your anger hurts to hear. Your righteousness chips away at the mortar of kindness. I can't listen to it anymore, can't see it anymore. It batters at the windows of my mind, greying the glass, making the goodness and beauty in you so hard for me to see.

I've been called a sensitive soul, perhaps the fault is mine. It probably is. I was told to expect this pain. I was told that as I began to change how I look around me, how I think, how I see what I saw would cause great pain. I'm not strong enough to bear it, and for that I am truly sorry.

I am walking away from here for a while. I want to go to a place that's green, and pretend the things I was told as a little girl were true.

Entering radio silence.

Jade