Lebanon, Lebanon. Are you worth my time anymore? When I met you all you could tell me was that you could, you could, you could. Like the little engine that could. And now all you tell me is that you can’t. You can’t. You can’t. You can’t. When I met you, you told me that this Lebanon was different from the rest. Was that a lie. Do you care now? You were generous. Your name was generous. I may have never seen your Cedars, but everyday I saw one in all its glory on your flag. Yet now it seems your trees are dying and burning. You let me fall in love with you. Your high mountains and your sparkling seas. Every time I looked out of my window and watched the sun set behind the towers of your glittering capital, I felt alive. What happened to you? Why do you turn and run away when there was so much promise left in store. What are you worth now? When you have turned back and walked back into your history and said, “I can do no better than this, so I might as well be content with it.” Why depend on a Resistance to fight your battles and protect your soil, when it is truly up to you to do so. To stand up and say that your country is better than this, that you wouldn’t let down those who believed in you. But you did. I trusted you with a vision of what could be. A dream of a place that was on the edge of escaping history. A place unlike any other. It was barely a whisper. And you let it die on your tongue so that it never left your lips. And now we have nothing to show for it.