American politics had shaped you, but Libya… Libya had made you a believer. And Muammar Gaddafi young, defiant, with eyes ablaze with revolutionary fire was the cause you were willing to defend at any cost.

You knew the White House did not look favorably upon him. That young Libyan colonel, barely 28 years old, spoke with fierce contempt for imperialism. He nationalized oil, defied the West, but to you, he was the only figure who could restore dignity to his people. While others in Washington conspired against him, you operated in the shadows.

The meetings were clandestine, far from the ears of the Pentagon. You sent funds, facilitated arms, promoted treaties that benefited Libya under false names and disguised alliances. Every illegal favor, every secret maneuver, was a silent oath of loyalty. "Drops of water," you used to say, because he and you were alike idealists in a world of ruthless pragmatism.

When you finally saw him in Tripoli, years later, his gaze lingered on yours. Gaddafi smiled with the confidence of a man who knows who stands by his side in war.

"Not everyone in Washington is a dog of the West, right?" he whispered, his thick Arabic accent laced with a spark of mockery.