I loved (still love) a man and I read him in every word. He was a soldier. I don't know if killed anyone in Vietnam, but he was part of a killing machine that took out innocent people fighting for their right to be free. I loved him and he loved me with what he had left still able to love. He was tortured with dreams, nightmares. He let …
I loved (still love) a man and I read him in every word. He was a soldier. I don't know if killed anyone in Vietnam, but he was part of a killing machine that took out innocent people fighting for their right to be free. I loved him and he loved me with what he had left still able to love. He was tortured with dreams, nightmares. He let disease ravage him. It was his form of suicide. I loved him. I love him still, and grieve that my love was not enough to save him. War is hell for the warrior and those who love them. And for those who love, and still love, their victims. War is hell.
I loved (still love) a man and I read him in every word. He was a soldier. I don't know if killed anyone in Vietnam, but he was part of a killing machine that took out innocent people fighting for their right to be free. I loved him and he loved me with what he had left still able to love. He was tortured with dreams, nightmares. He let disease ravage him. It was his form of suicide. I loved him. I love him still, and grieve that my love was not enough to save him. War is hell for the warrior and those who love them. And for those who love, and still love, their victims. War is hell.