There is this story forming of a solder in an old war, fighting, thinking of his family, tired, sweat and dust in his eyes, working with his sword, his muscles aching, and tired. Half blind, half dead with exhaustion. The smell of the dust and the blood, the cries of men looking at their dismembered limbs laying on the ground, the howls of agony of dying men watching their own blood flow into the sand and rocks, knowing nothing they had done here, or anywhere, would ever help anything to grow on this, their final killing ground.
Wondering about his wife. She gave him reason to fight. He had to walk away from this battle to go home, so he carried on.
Bodies fell that did not want to go home as much as he did.
It was a long time ago, Mesopotamia continued to be a civilization for a while. One would presume he did walk away, walked all the way home, and helped her raise their children. They smiled and the civilization prospered.
I wonder if he called her Dear Heart. I wonder how long they held each other after the years apart, and true. I wonder how long they looked into each others eyes, and spent quiet days growing used to each others presence in the spaces they had learned to defend as their own.
I wonder about the evenings, the wine and the quiet guarded talk as they both learned to find their way through to, and earn again, the hearts they had dreamed of. The truth they both had held dear.
I do wonder about all of that, I do know that Mesopotamia did continue as a civilization, for a while longer.
I also do know why he fought, why he survived, and why he made his way home, and then earned it again.
I have no doubts about those things.