During the war, we always talked about the same things. Name, how long in the war, what exactly made us decide to fight. Our small victories that only meant something for our side.
Always, in a way, the same conversation, with always, in a way, with the same person, over and over again.
There were those who talked too much, who put themselves above others, who liked to think they were doing more, and there were those who didn't talk much about it, at least not in the same way. If you ask me, the second ones usually did more, and did it better than the others.
We were brothers and sisters in the trenches and, inside, we knew we were all fighting for the same thing, for some of us the most important thing. And of course we had to talk about it, we had to talk about the strategies, about the losses, about how we felt there... Hell, there was even some joking.
We created a community, we developed so much love for one another, we shed quite a few tears together. So much support was offered and accepted, so many sleepless nights spent planning the next morning... and still I felt that I still was so far away from them, that there was a certain coldness in all of it.
Sometimes I wondered what toll the fight was taking on us. Did we waste our time? Did we let chances pass because our war was more important? Did we make too many sacrifices? Did we go a bit crazy, thinking ourselves more capable, or more powerful, than we were? We knew all price was small, we knew the goal was worth it, and I still think it was.
But even now, I wish I could have known them better, gotten closer, learned more from them, shared more time with them, before we won and all of us walked our own way.
