-"Hey."

Someone called out, but you didn't answer.

The rain stopped, gradually clearing up. The dense forest was less cold. The campfire was glowing red, the wood was slightly soaked with water, so the smoke rose up. The humid air smelled of sweet earth and clear night dew. The moon was higher and brighter than ever, shining brightly in the dark night sky, strangely peaceful in the years of smoke and fire.

-"Hey, if the country is liberated in the future, will you love anyone?"

-"I will go to college."

The conversation you ignored was between a soldier and him. While you absentmindedly followed the figure of the foreign military doctor, Laos whispered about the wish he cherished in his heart. If in the future, your country, his country, her country, everyone's country is at peace, then he will continue to wish, that he "will go to college".

-"So boring. You know how to read and write anyway. Have you never loved anyone? You look so immature."

-"I don't dare to want that much."

He smiled wryly, not wanting to answer these questions. The other person closed his mouth for a moment and then continued to chat warmly. Foreigners are fine, fellow countrymen are fine, just understanding each other to chat is enough.

Youth is actually not long, only the traces of time left behind are permanent. The soldier went to war the next month and was blown to pieces by a bomb, his lover waited forever but never saw him come back to visit. Also in the fierce battle to regain every inch of land, Laos was blinded in one eye, half of his face was covered with deep scars.

Youth is not really long, but it is enough to try many times for the things that he has dreamed of all his life.

We are all people who have loved, wished, and existed.

To live, to die, to leave behind the world like that.

Unfinished stories are forever buried under the hot muzzles of guns, the red fuses of cannons. They are the evidence of a life, a life, in the wounds of the heart, and in a scorched diary that has been forever forgotten.