When I see these flowers, and this man standing here (that's me, by the way), and I see all the men with guns walking behind me, I'm supposed to say that the flowers remind me of a lady. I'm supposed to taste the dust in my mouth, remember my comrades who gave their lives, understand the difference between pride and loyalty, duty and identity.

Mostly, I remember not knowing where I stood with any of these things; thinking that this was the process to figuring it out.

We're all figuring it out, aren't we? To know where you stand is a rare, holy thing.

And in this photo, I stand here looking confused. The flowers are a lurid pink, the type of pink you only see on little girls' backpacks and Barbie doll shoes. I have a smile on my face because this seems absurd, out here in the desert.

Eventually, things will sort themselves out. I will find a place to stand. I will be able to make connections. But in this moment, I'm trapped. The only connections I have are shallow, unlike desert plants. I don't know what will happen, and I dont' know if I will live to find out.