Alice Werner. That’s the name. Where did I hear it before?

That is the name of the woman in my dream. The dream that played out as one of those movies. I tend to see a lot of them these days. Continuing dreams. Dreams I know are the dreams, and sometimes think I am living, or mostly reading.

I run .. Between cities in the scourging rain, I run. Running for dear life, every single one of us. It is tragic. The moments of war are the most tragic for lives. And the most poetic and civilized instances of humanity. The morbid shame you feel after mistaking a twenty two year old for ‘granma’. The spirit that never dies, the smile that stays, the courtesy you show… That is civilization in the gory details of war. Nothing else.

Then there was Rosasharn in the dream. Great book, that one. Why do I have to be obsessed about these books and movies for days? Why oh why do I have to think of greatness in every single thing? Chivalry, pain, love, heroism. Nothing is as majestic in real life as it is in your mind. Then why do I have to fret about Ennis and Jack for days? Why can’t I let go of my obsessions?