Memories of war

   A thought entered my mind as I was driving home this morning. Something peculiar, that most (normal) people wouldn't think about. I longed for war. Not a war I thought was coming or anything farfetched as something you would see in a work of fiction. I missed the war. It has been eight years since I left the deserts of northwest Baghdad but if I imagine hard enough, I can still feel the hot, dry air blow on my face. The smell of the sand after it rains or of something burning somewhere off in the distance. The bright sun in my eyes and plumes of smoke that arose from mortar strikes that would break up the monotony of the plain light, blue sky. Sounds of Blackhawk helicopters flying over head were my lullaby as I drifted to sleep after a long day of patrols. Would I want to be over there now? Of course not but from time to time, I miss the war. I lost friends there, brothers. I wear their names on my arm and occasionally I cry tears in their memory.
   Even after all the atrocities I've witnessed, I miss it. I came home a different man, forever changed from the experience of combat and by simply surviving what countless others did not. I will never be normal. I always feel I'm on the outside looking in, always vigilant to some unforeseen force that would do me harm. I never relax because something can trigger an emotional response in me that causes me to become completely despondent to everything around me. This wasn't the first time... the thought comes every now and then; "I miss the war."
   John McCain said: "War is wretched beyond description, and only a fool or a fraud could sentimentalize its cruel reality." I am neither but I can't think that it's normal to think this way but the sad reality is, it's the norm. Sometimes I wish the feelings would go away but I don't think they ever will. I can function to the best of my ability but the fact of the matter is: I remember the war and all it's experiences... and sometimes I wish I was still there.