What destiny carry you, hands, cold and tight in fists… I look at you and I feel like a condemned judging my mistakes by myself. Yes, I did many mistakes, willingly or not willingly, fighting brave or cowardly obeying, I won enough times it happen to win, I won no hero heart in my chest, of admiration in someone else breast, I got only the wounds, disappointment, regrets… A simple soldier wore by life through his own anonymous battles, injuring and being injured.
Yet I know how to dream… Beautiful dreams so they can complain about their nostalgia, perhaps some look at me with scorn, a foolish dreamer and a loser, but still, when each war ends, defeated or victorious, what one will take on the other side? I’ll just take my dreams. I heard that there, dreams are actually reality, that there is nothing out there beside dreams… I am glad that here in such a world, I learned to dream beautiful.