…because airport is closed, because no one ceases during the ceasefire except politicians,
because someone made you familiar with gunfire when you were twelve and put a rifle in
your hands, because you couldn’t hear the strings of the guitar over the drums of warfare,
because it was your country you thought one side was all sides. It was never clear…until
you had to leave your best friend bloody on the parapet, when your godfather said go go go
and tucked you in the boot of a car racing through the mountains, where you rolled in the
back sucking fumes and hugging your guitar.