I am not one for artistic self-expression, but the sting of hurt is a magical muse offering a healing touch when indulged.
I warred a war. I fought with everything I had. Every time I fell I rose again. When I thought I’d lost I kept on going. With sheer determination, and never-failing strength I was bound to win, but as I neared the heart of victory I met my fate. A white flag stood where resistance should have been. Where I was ready to see blood, I met a sheering silent peace. I, though valiant and strong still, had already lost. This white flag, was torn by many gentle breezes and stained with dust of time. I had been fighting no one all along. I was certain of true victory, but for either one to surrender was defeat for both. For either one to conquer was the demise of each. How curious a war. The pain and misery itself mark the victors, the clash alone determines spoils… And I was left alone. This white flag was the only path to loss.