What is war? What is war for your grandmother, who is alone, sick and can’t leave her flat in Bakhmut? What is war for your wife and two kids who are in a crowd of refugees trying to flee the country on their own? What is war for you, when you’re traveling in a body bag back home, to your parents, who hope till the last minute that this is a mistake, that inside there is someone else, that you’re in captivity, in a field hospital, lost in a trench, hiding on occupied areas, anywhere but here - on the floor of the morgue, in this dirty god damned bloody white body bag.
War is the force which makes the living who want to die bury the dead who wished to be alive.