This is a systemic failure, and being angry with one another won't fix it.
Be outraged. Make change. Now is the best time there is.
It always comes back to the personal, doesn't it?
Maybe we've just forgotten we're all in this together.
I've seen too much, and I've lost too many. And too much of me still wants to fix it.
I desperately want to write but you're going to have to put up with this mélange of nonsense instead.
Memories can be a choice, sometimes.
I've written myself through loneliness, depression, anxiety, anger, fear, frustration for my entire life.
Elena's really a lousy soldier. I love her with all my heart, but she should've been a freighter jock instead.
All memories are my own, and like all memories may be imprecise here and there. I've fact-checked where I could.
But this story is personal.