I've tried a hundred times to write something inspirational here. The moral of the story, you know how it should be: something that makes you believe everything will be alright in the end - because I survived, didn't I? 

Surviving the story, my story - is that enough? Do you believe surviving is enough to make a person happy? Do you believe that living is enough, or do you search for something more? Things such as happiness, riches, fame...  I can say with almost certainty that you can think of something you would like in a perfect world, and something more than just being 'okay' or even 'alive'. 

Certainly, we have priorities. Living at the top of that list; but afterwards comes living comfortably, eating well, having friends, banishing loneliness and feeling successful. You may place these in a different order. These may change as you grow older, or experience something you previously valued little. 

Someone once told me that love is defined by someone who is more important than the items or aspects you need to live well by, and I think this is true. Dying for someone is thought of as a heroic action, perhaps limited to comic books and movie block-busters. Something that would turn up in marvel comics or police shows, and usually involving hostages, loved ones and a tightly-strung order of emotions each character must face. 

That may show love - or stupidity. 

Is dying for someone showing you love them? If they loved you back, they would suffer because you chose to die for them. They would feel grief, sadness, a terrible regret that would eat at them. Is trying to be heroic worth that?

You don’t need to be heroic to be remembered, or to be worth something. The very fact you live, the small actions you make, they all mean something. Without you, the lives of those you know and trust would be so changed from the reality of what it is – don’t you dare think otherwise.

Dying for someone isn't a way to prove your love - saving someone is. If choosing between your death and theirs is the only option, only one person can make that choice: you. Hopefully neither you nor I will ever experience a choice like that, and in this, there is no easy answer. You do what you think is best and deal with the consequences, I guess.

That same person told me I was old beyond my years, but that was before the war, sitting on a hill in the middle of a thunderstorm and gazing at the sky. Thinking of a future we, at the time, believed strongly would be possible. The war changed everything. The war of my generation, fuelled by the conflict my parents and grandparents created.

My story does not start at the beginning. It starts at the end.