Some wars you lose are those you walk out of feeling stronger.
You wake up one morning after a heavy battle the night before, losing more ground yet stubborn with control. You brush off the dust and count the casualties, hoping you didn’t lose more than you bargained for. The night that seemed so cold and lonesome when you went to bed turned into a morning of opportunities to grow. Standing in front of your mirror, stark naked and bare for you to see, you count the scars on your soul that weren’t there before. You won’t do it anymore.
Peacetime and a whole lot of love spent lies on the back of your mind, cuddled up with the pillows of support and affection that seems so alien today. You know that room in the back of your conscience was a safe room, against the world and all the hurt people gave. You wonder, as you stare into your eyes, what was it about the pain that you once craved? Was the cocoon of unreality keeping you safe from the way you would behave? Was it a burden shared, between two souls, so that you may be saved? You rub away the sleep from your eyes and to yourself you say.
Enough of being this way, no more burning nights. No more firing houses and burning love letters out of spite. No more shivering bodies when the cold seems to wrap you tight. No more feeling lost when things could have been alright. No more lashing out when those around couldn’t handle the blight. No more depending on love to keep you warm at night. No more guns at your hip with barrels bright. No more wondering why when the end is in sight. No more waking in a cold sweat with dreams of fright. No more demons of trauma hiding behind the night light. No more losing to yourself in a fight.
The day goes long and contrite only if you let it, you know this to be true. You let the water wash away the sins of yesterday, cold and harsh, as you set your hair right and put on your best shoes. Today would be a day unlike all others, where along pockmarked streets and through puddles of spent shells you shall walk as you should. Tall and proud, able to reach the sky blue right above you. You unwrap the bandages on your soul where the blood has clotted, scars only showing through. You cover them up and celebrate them with black and white tattoos. You smile like your world finally makes sense to you, if it doesn’t you don’t care, it’s all the same to you.
When the parley is called, you give your best shot and tell the truth as it is. You explain the bombing runs were in defence, not to cause harmful ends. You tell them all your life you’ve been trying your best. You hear them say it’s worse than it seems. You ask them if their decision is final, and if it is, then you would learn to unlove the comfort of bliss. You step back, take a bow and make your amends. You smile them off as they fly off on the winds. There is nothing more than to rebuild what was to what is, and you’re all you need to be at peace.
You see, sometimes parley leaves you feeling destroyed. It’s unfair at times, only if your logic is left unemployed. Life goes on, wars are lost and won by the virtue of choice. A time in recluse feels like walking through war-torn Hanoi. Left to your own devices, your mind feels like a wind-up toy, unwound and forgotten and devout of joy. Yet, today would be unlike all others, the product of your ploy. You would find within the tiniest crevices of your soul, some joy, the joy you would use to build yourself anew and make a man out of the boy.
Today, I wake up feeling like there’s a world out there for me to explore, and just because she won’t be there with me it ain’t so tragic.