Dear David,
I am writing to your existence. I am writing to the guy who wakes up with unkempt hair and hums with gravelly voice as sunshine penetrates his foreign irises. I am writing to your skin, breath and flesh. I'm writing to my friend with no chains, grudges, trails, DNA, history, last names or bloodlines.
That's the thing with love, you always want to be a hero and to fix the fucked up guy and to overcome religious beliefs and to look beyond histories and wars and massacres. Here's the thing with love, you can't.
A list of things I hate: politics, suited up dictators, blood on asphalt, whole orphaned cities, children who were robbed of their innocence, obeying soldiers without a choice, wars, leaders who carve their names in history books by giving orders from the comfort of their offices, I hate your ancestors, I hate you, David. Because that's what I am supposed to feel without a choice as well. You see, we're soldiers too. And above all, I hate the circumstances.
Dearest David, I've never thought I'd be sending a letter without an address. I love you, but I hate your government. If it makes you feel any better, I hate mine too.
Farida
