War is an ugly thing. Let's be honest here. Personally I have no desire to get shot at. I'd willingly do it for my friends and take the bullet for them no contest. But I have the utmost respect for the men and women who would do it for ungrateful and complaining citizens who they don't even know. I don't know how they do it. I'm sure they have some hilarious ways to spend there time, sometimes. After all, most of these guys are fresh out of high school or college. They're still kids, unaccustomed to how the world works. So they might as well have fun with it. Right?

After all, they have to have some sort of fun there.... right? I mean, you can only occupy so many hours. They will always find time for a few shenanigans. A few tricks and leg pulls.

But they are new to this life...

They are unaccustomed to how the world works. How it can all go wrong, and steal something so precious and innocent from them all in the blink of an eye. How cruel it can be, and just how quickly it can turn from fun and games... to something much darker.

Are you forgetting those that didn't come back? The friends, fathers, mothers, daughters, sons and children that never returned? Those that died protecting their friends, never to be recognized by the public, and only mourned by their closest friends. They went to war. They went to an unforgiving battlefield where one misstep can mean the end of your life.

And they did it gladly. They stepped up to a challenge few would take, fighting back against whatever tries to strike us down, not only as a country, but on an individual level. And even if they come back, even if they survive that fight, that nightmare, they will never be the same.

Do you remember when that soldier, that tired and tried soul, had a sparkle in his eyes that wasn't dull or worn? When he jumped up as a child, a smile in his eyes, and an eagerness in his soul to start the day. A love for the light of day and every creation. A fearlessness that could only come from child naivety. From never having to hold your best friend as his blood poured through your fingers, and he asked you with his very last breaths to have you tell his mom he's so sorry he won't be able to wish her happy birthday. From never seeing the man you trained with, lived with, and trusted, taken away in the matter of moments.

The war may be won. They may come back alive. They can smile and laugh, but know that they will never be the same. You can remove them from the battlefield. But no matter how well the war, how swift the battle, there will always be a casualty. The war is won, but the child, the innocence, the sparkle in their eye, is gone. And there is next to nothing that can bring it back.