I think the only reason they call this a war still – is fear. Those of us who survive, we will never be the same because of it. Not us, not them, not the earth we all walk on, or the steel we make our weapons of.

Now, we do not fight any more, we just prepare and quell our fear. I believe something is at stake now that makes all our reasons to fight fade and seem meaningless.

I had another dream – I saw a child, a new born, being put on a scale and weighed, like they do in hospitals. I strived to recognize the child, and a very fast film of human faces rushed by my eyes. I woke up, still uncertain. I think I had a revelation, that, with me, the Universe woke up, equally uncertain of that child’s identity. I have an interpretation, if you’d like to read it: the child is de billions we were before the war. The boundless identity, the infinite chance to become anything.

We were all born like that, same size, same limbs. How spectacular the transformation into an athlete, a violinist, a steel worker, an astronaut. What tremendous power that child held.

And what we have lost. With each man who dies beside me, there’s a terrible question growing in my mind: are there enough of us to carry on? Not with war, but with life –

With all my love,

Mikhail Borodin
To Joconde Abraham, September, 7th