Don’t pray for me. Just know, it’s not too late for me. Time moves in revere. Each new moment. It’s like history stole it. Should be happy but, face never shows it. I’ve been sick, took whatever I could from life to suppress it. Never would have guessed it, until I chose courage and flexed it. Stories from the past, won’t be told again. At least trapped here, I won’t grow old again. Sometimes, I wish I picked up a pen instead of a sword. The damage I had a hand in creating can’t be ignored.