There are days in a warrior’s life when defeat drapes itself upon the heart; the weight of it pulls the mouth down, and every step feels like drudgery. There is no rising above it on a day like this. It feels so full, and leaden that the only thing to be done is to sit with it, and be morose friends for as long as necessary.
Defeat glums the soul, shrouds the light, and I am a stubborn one; I want it to do so. I want to feel its heavy-handed, tawdry weight. I languish in it, allowing it to seep into the very core of me.
What point is there in all of this? Nothing is getting better. Positivity? Shoo away, put up no fight, but don’t cower; wait in the shadows until defeat is exhausted with the effort.
Today, I am done, I am solitary, there is no hope.
It is not hopeless, I understand that; I am simply not hopeful today.
And that’s ok.
It’s a busy thing, to tirelessly keep the balls of life up in the air. Not just my own, but others’ too. I realize that I can’t keep up, so they fall, and I fall with them. I catch myself, held suspended in some sort of shadowy between-ness.
It will pass.
I have not stopped being a warrior; I’m just caving into darkness for a spell.