The Battlefield

"I'm already in my own watchtower where my towerblock lords over the silencing of the fields. I'm already in my watchtower where bloodshed is not near."

Someone told me that. And the funny thing is that I wanted to be there, in the middle of that battlefield he was talking about. The fields where everybody was fighting for one thing, and that being his heart.

He is Helen of Troy. A thousand ships sank because of him. And I survived the shipwreck. I stood there, in the middle of the field, my loins girded, my battle helmet in my hand and my shield in the other. I was wondering why I needed the shield, I was already wounded, hurt from the previous battle I was in. But I kept in near, hoping that my heart won't be speared, yet again.

I saw him, in his watchtower, looking over the soldiers vying for his love. He was there, resplendent in his silver armour and feathered helmet. His face glittered with hope that someday, the war will be over. He knows he had lost, that was why he left the battle to rest on top of everything. He wanted to leave, but he knew he needed to be there, to find out who wins.

His kingdom was torn, the war was between the Loved and the Loving. He loved him. He cannot let go of him, and although he knows someone is trying to win over his heart, he also knows that the loving person will not win. He knows, and yet he continues to watch over the bloodshed.

I am the Loving. And although I know I won't win, I carry my shield and my sword. I stand, in the middle of the war, letting my shining shield catch his eye. And yet he is focused on the other soldier, the one that slashed my heart into two.

The Loved soldier rode his horse to where I was, and I was surprised, hurt, and bleeding. And yet I kept my eye on him, the one on the Watchtower. I longed for him to stop looking at the Loved. I am here. I am Loving, I am loving you like I haven't loved anyone before.

As my heart bled, I was thankful that I was there, in the middle of the battlefield. I have proven that I am worth it, I know I can do it, and yet, without any hope that he will see me as what I want him to see me, I long for the end of it all.

My armor shone, in the setting sun, and I smiled as he smiled too, not at me, but at the Loved.

It was the end of the war.

As I stumbled, blood pouring into the grass, my life ending with a broken heart, I saw him look at me, and shake his head.

"I am not worth it, he seemed to say."

Oh, but you are my love. You are worth the blood I am spilling.

So in the battlefield, the man in the watchtower walked to the Loved soldier, and they rode their horses into the sunset.

I was left there, in the middle of the battlefield, the battlefield that I fought on.

I do not have any regrets. At least I died in my own terms.

At least I fought for you.