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.