The international center of peace and security had gone late into the night. The main gates were locked. That meant a long walk along my childhood river to the only entrance to home.
We meandered down, keeping an eye out for rats and talked about the small wars we had won in our own lives and the peace we had made with our past.
Suddenly, I realized our walk, this night, those lights, my colleague, that reflection, this moment would never ever happen again, the next day offering only more blizzards of words that brought nothing closer to kindness.
However badly done, peace always looks beautiful.
