Comfort is the devil, he said.
Finding myself soft, digesting my food well, I realize what I have to do. I've grown too comfortable in this state. I've left the fields of blood to come home and grow old, too soon. My children laugh at me. My wife no longer loves me. The house creaks, and opens its windows, allowing dead leaves to spread through its hallways, bedrooms. Beauty mocks me. Dangles its grace before my atrophied body. I can not even remember what it felt like. We were not invincible when we were young, we were in constant state of pain. Our bones stretched, and our stomachs swallowed with desperation. And now we resign ourselves to wisdom? To experience? to knowledge? Be prepared.
You will be young, whether you're ready or not.
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