The dust has settled.
The gentle remnant of the battle coating unbiasedly my world.
Making everything equally gray.
Not ugly, not sullen, just simpler.
Equal.
The war is over now.
Not in remission, over.
With its absence, silence returns.
Allowing deeper thoughts be heard.
The thoughts I could not consider as I focused my tactics for victory.
A victory that was never obtainable anyway, for both sides were destined to lose.
These deep thoughts are more fierce than the fight.
More sharp than the sword.
More lethal than man.
Who am I now that the battle has ended?
Clearly I cannot return to innocence. I am no longer welcome there.
I cannot find the gypsy I used to be, nor the wolf, nor the artist.
I am not the story weaver, not the record keeper, not the warrior, nor the victim.
Does that leave me to be nothing?
Absurd is the thought, yet it has found weight.
For the dust of the battle spread evenly.
Evenly among my world, evenly within my mind.
Giving everything more substance.
Even the thought that I am now nothing.
For each of my someones went into battle.
Each struck down an enemy before falling them self.
Sacrificing their significance for the greater hope.
Victory.
Hollow useless victory.