Two more months and I shall be with you.

Leaving Afghanistan will be as getting out of a marsh. The air always

smells polluted. The smell of dead corpses pierces your nostrils.

The smell of gunpowder and bombs numbs you. Causing you to feel

devoid of human feelings. You feel more love for the strayed dog that

the poor fellow dying at your feet. My index finger has gotten as wide

as my mid finger from pulling the trigger. Have no idea how many

men I’ve killed. All day I go here there everywhere. Pointing my rifle

at the target. As when I was a kid and shot down those little tin ducks

at the local fair. I haven’t taken a shower in two weeks. I’m drowning

in my own sweat. I long for a shower and a soap bar. Washing myself

and recovering my sanity. Seeing all my guilt going down the drain.

Sleeping in a real bed, next to a window letting in fresh air with you by

my side. Sweet love. Hope that dream comes true when I see you.

Love you.

EO