Vova

What are we? Lover? Friend? Comrade? What are we to you? Two separate lines that are no longer reconcilable
I had hopes for you. It would snow in the city. A ship would dock at the port from Beirut. We would look at the deck with curiosity. We loved Beirut. As we loved Havana, Palestine, Diyarbakir. We loved the millions of people we didn't know there, as we loved our own people. But I should have understood then; I should have seen your balancing act, which would one day remain silent while my loyalties, my actions, my character were ruthlessly questioned; which would not lose its composure while I was being destroyed. Go, go to hell. Go to war. Leave me in this hell and go.
You were the identity confusion that arose inside me whenever I said 'my country'. You were something A definition A rebel who insisted on an identity I was nothing. An identityless person trying to be something and approaching what he was looking for. Now I understand the attraction point of this love. I was going to tell you this. But what does it matter? What does any of this matter to you? Nothing. Only nothing. The only thing that matters is you and your will to fight.