Tobacco-stained dreams remain. Tanned like leather, finger joints gnarled.  The sun glints through a crack in the door.  This is a sign of brighter times.  Turquoise blues holds the memory.  

Tainted by gunfire, the repetition of the rounds hitting the ground.  Tactile senses return, feeling the grip against the palm, fingers around the guard.  

Tension becomes the norm.  Tomorrow is hope, every evening brings the tears.  Trees sway as I walk, seeking serenity in the green leaves.