I’m on the isle of Lesbos and the echos of the voices of my comrades in arms are still with me.  Much as I despise them for what they are, denizens of violence, their tones are still honey to my ears and the only voices I still love and respect.   All the same I am shipwrecked and it is not quite true that there are only women here.  There are men as well.  But we do not speak the same language, above all in what we mean by anything when we speak.  As much as the words may be the same, the ideas and concepts are different.   I must go back to my home but that only means a way back to war and I shall surely die there, likely in the next battle, for I am very much weakened.

Violence has been a way of life.  I would be glad to be free of it if only the tones of those around me matched the childhood tones I am more used to.   That doesn’t happen and they do not.  Consequently I must return home.  It sounds a stupid reason for anything but that is the only reason I’ve got.  When the sun rises, I will attempt to make my way back.  May the gods be so kind as to assist.

I can’t imagine why there would be a good reason for anything.  The food is not ideal back home.  The life is not ideal.  It’s still the only life I know.

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