I dreamed of dying young and angry.

I was always the martyr in my mind.

a sword in my hand

a tear on my cheek

garments flowing in the wind.

To be with you was to forget my delusions

of war and justice.

My days with you are long

and similar

and pure golden.

and right.

we work in the fields from rose to ink

and it is hard

but it is beautiful.

you taught me how to be timid.

when you ripped the sword from my hand,

i cowered, for i feared retaliation.

I had never known peace.

You laid the weapon at my feet and said,

“you do not have to fight anymore.”