Behind the sandbags, another world began. A world where every day was a struggle, and every night was a waiting for dawn. The sand in the bags, stretched out in rows, seemed to separate two lives: what was left behind and what was here and now. A cold wind blew through thin jackets, dampness from the ground pulled. Ahead was a wide plain, endless fields that usually personify freedom, but now they had become a battlefield. Far on the horizon, trees could be seen, quietly watching how people destroy a life that is so difficult to build. just want to live peacefully, thought one of those sitting behind these bags. Without the sounds of explosions, without the danger that lurks behind every hill. Just living: waking up in the morning to the smell of fresh coffee, hearing the laughter of children in the yard, falling asleep to the sound of rain, not the roar of artillery. But this morning, all that was left was to stand here. To hold on. And dream of silence.
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Dream of silence
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