All Was Beautiful

The war was over. The war was coming.

The war was eternal.

We had but a moment to catch our breaths.

Me and her, on the back of an old Honda,

riding to the lush trees, high mountains,

and first snows of a just begun winter.

The air cold and sharp, burning our lungs.

The sky grey as the eyes of a distant God.

The road open, deceptively endless.

In the distance, on the border, canon fire.

We could not escape the war, or loss, or death.

Just pretend for a moment, that all was beautiful.

The motorbike whined and I pulled the throttle.

She held on tight, and the blur was a mischievous dream.

Just pretending for a moment, that all was beautiful.

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