Ideas come so randomly, and, for me, so late at night. Driving home tonight, at 12:30, listening to what I always listen to at night while driving, The Trapeze Swinger by Iron and Wine, a thought flooded into my mind, yelling so I could not ignore it. She cried. That's it, with an image of a beautiful woman, nearly divine royalty, a queen, comparable to Guinevere in Arthurian legend, standing atop a ridge overlooking a plain of battle. Her grief and sadness is infinite, her loss insurmountable yet survivable. There is a future...so distant. These are all the things that came to me, so suddenly, so depressingly yet inspiring all the while. These are some of things I always think about, which might be why I always look so lost, and, lately as many have said, sad. A few days ago at work a woman told me I have sad eyes. I didn't know how to respond. I still don't know how to feel about that. Anyway, here.
She Cried
She cried, then, as banners whipped through the leaden sky and wind whipped across the plain of battle.
She cried, then, as lives lost were lives gained, as blood soaked the earth, and screams, those of battle and those of death, raked the air as she raked her eyes.
Her eyes offered the only softness on such a hard day—hard as steel clashed against steel and lodged deep into bone.
Her eyes, so dark and so deep, watched the day unfurl before her, as her life, all her living, converged into these moments.
Why do you, their king, their commander, my love, battle on the front when so many would willing die for you?
Why do you surrender all you have to the blade of a coward, a minion, a man who’s name will never be spoken , when you are so much more?
She cried remembering his answer and how the world mirrored against his bright eyes, how pain and belief laced his finals words.
She cried remembering his touch, the calluses on his palms, the promises he made and always kept even when she did not believe until he forced belief upon her.
I battle for you, my star, as I do everything for you, my star, as I will forever do everything for you, my star.
I keep you in my heart, your dark eyes on the blade of my sword so that I may always see you, so that, if I die, your eyes will be the last thing I see.
She cried knowing he spoke the truth but that it meant so little, that he would die today, as the world avalanched upon him.
She cried knowing she would forever cry for him, and because of him, and herself for letting love bloom when she knew the risks, the rewards, the pain and pleasure.
And what if you never return, if the blade strikes your flesh and travels deeper, spills your lifeblood and leaves you lifeless?
And what if I stand upon this ridge forever, staring down on the plain of battle as they search for your corpse amongst the fallen?
If those things come to pass, know I have died for you—you, the last thought in my mind, vision in my eyes, my star.
If those things come to pass, know I will wait for you at the crossroads before venturing onwards, that my life will never continue without you.
I will wait for you, my star.
I will wait for you, my star.
And I will find you.
And I will find you.
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