I stare at my bare hands.
How come that I feel every vibe in the air around me?
The war is over since 40 years, my main enemy is dead.
Still I’m guarding the gates.
Lying awake with the clothes on, keeping the campfire alive.
Looking out through the window to meet the eye of the silent fullmoon.
Dreaming about a strong arm to lean my head on.
Someone who can take the nightwatch, so that I can get some rest.
The wind is intensifying and my restless hands touches my legs.
I can feel the muscles and I can feel the pulse in my veins.
I’m alive and I’m going to be fine.
I have to.