I was a fighter.

I am a soldier.

I will be a survivor.

The battles I fought,

The war I thought was finished,

The peace I had so hoped for,

Gone.

No, it hadn’t disappeared.

Something can’t disappear if it was never there.

Only now I realise.

But oh,

How beautiful was the feeling I had when I thought,

That all that time I fought had been for a reason,

For a good outcome.

But oh, how tragic,

The feeling I felt when I realised it wasn’t finished.

Gripping at my heart,

Taking it apart.

Piece

By

Piece.

I was a fighter.

I am a soldier.

I will be a survivor.

But I lost the spirit,

The adrenaline,

The hope I held on to for so, so long.

Too long.

I will not lose it again.

I was a fighter.

I will fight no more.

The spirit you need to fight has a cost too high.

I am a soldier.

I will march on for my people.

Even when it gets tough.

But I will match for them. No longer for me.

I am not one of them anymore.

I will be a survivor.

I will survive.

But surviving is not living.

Surviving is staying alive.

And for that hope is not needed.

Which is perfect.

Because too me, hope has a price to high to pay.

- Experts from the diarys of a broken soldier.