There are moments.  Flailing stretches of docility that halt you still.  Bringing your impact and momentum to its wilting knees, you unveil your inner offerings.  Open to touch.  Open to see. The brawny gusto that once boasted fullness & glory-bound vigor now clings to a history of strength. Fragile takes on new meaning.  One more akin to decomposition rather than aesthetic prowess.

With rich conviction, I feel my pain ease.  Physically, it releases.  A husband, off to the far right, in the same army green fatigues I wear, holds me all through the night and again the next day.  His gun is empty as well.  But, he helps to refill the rounds of the soldier in white beside us.  As do best friends decked in that same monochromatic attire with words and reminders.