So did I

You fought, I know you did. But so did I.

When your commanders gave the order to fire across the desert, you burnt your hands firing those machine guns. But so did I.

I know you lost your country to come here and destroy mine, I know you felt ripped open when you couldn’t be by your own family’s side while they worried and died. But so did I.

When you held your countrymen in your arms as they bled out their last breaths, you called them your brothers and swore you’d rather die in their place. You buried them and turned to your God to ask why. So did I.

You swore you’d never kill a man unless necessary, you said you didn’t believe in war crimes. Then one time you remembered that the blood on your hands ran as thick as mud and you carried on with your day as if it were nothing. So did I.

When the war ended you swore your hatred towards the enemy and sat through your family’s celebrations, consumed with survivor’s guilt. Finding in your God’s sacred places no comfort so solace, you dreamed of the war and your brethren every night. So did I.

We’re not so different, though your orders were to conquer my country and mine were to defend it. Here we are, both living in the homes we started our lives in, you flinch at noises and I wince when anyone touches the scar on the back of my head. You curse the war. You say you wish it never was, because now you’re fighting a battle with your soul, and no one ever wins those.

So do I.