It’s entirely possible that morning carries with it both the seeds of transformation as well as the acceptance of our own final defeat.
What was worn down, worn thin, worn out by interminable counter-insurgencies, is again flushed away like yesterday’s rancid garbage.
But then, one more hostility is joined, one more argument botched, only to find that each new encounter has further corrupted our playfulness, our optimism, our willingness to seek out all that remains good.
And we finally step aside in abject surrender. If not today, then soon enough