There are moments that you never think of or cherish until they are gone; moments so small they seem almost inconsequential. I never thought I would miss those runs to the house in the desert, our occasional adventurous supply run in the dark of the night, but I do.
Except, at the same time, I blame it for the demise of my once plain life. If we had never gone they would still be here. If we had never gone I wouldn't have become an outcast, unwanted and untrusted. If we had never gone I wouldn't have become fixed on revenge.
It always starts with loss but the question is if that's how it will end. What does the truth mean if it costs all you hold dear? What does it mean if you become the very thing that started it all?
I honestly still don't know but somehow I think I'd do it again, the good and the bad. Your opinion of me might change, but that is something I've come to live with. I've begun to realize that this world of ideals needed to be turned on its head anyway. We no longer have the luxury to idealize when we live in a world of wastelands.