A year fighting over this stupid little scrap of land. Smoked and joked and worked to the bone and alone and miserable and tired and afraid and in pain. Shot at, blown up, narrowly avoiding death and killing. The love of my life leaving me, my best friend dying, lying in the freezing cold and rain pouring through the roof, my laptop broken and my books burned, six weeks pulling guard with a broken hand in a cast, time spent filthy and time spent stumbling through the darkness by night vision and time spent sitting on rocks halfway up the mountains, and time spent looking through binoculars and thermals in search of them, pages and pages of diaries and stories and love and heartbreak and thousands of miles between me and someone that could understand me, in the most pointless dead poor and miserable valley in the world. And for what?
Nothing. We gave it to them.