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113
Still They Cheered
<p><br/></p><p>They say every soldier dreams of the day the war finally ends.</p><p><br/></p><p>I never did.</p><p><br/></p><p>As long as there was another battle to fight, another burden to carry, another impossible task to conquer, I believed I still had a purpose.</p><p><br/></p><p>I thought the battlefield was keeping me alive.</p><p><br/></p><p>I never realized it was slowly killing me.</p><p><br/></p><p>People called it resilience.</p><p><br/></p><p>I called it breathing.</p><p><br/></p><p>Somewhere along the march, the victories became heavier than the battles themselves. The armour that once felt weightless began to sink into my skin. Every step demanded more of me than the last, yet I kept walking.</p><p><br/></p><p>Not because I was strong.</p><p><br/></p><p>Because I didn't know how to stop.</p><p><br/></p><p>The strange thing about surviving is that people mistake survival for invincibility.</p><p><br/></p><p>So I kept performing.</p><p><br/></p><p>I smiled through exhaustion.</p><p><br/></p><p>Led while I was lost.</p><p><br/></p><p>Encouraged others while quietly forgetting how to encourage myself.</p><p><br/></p><p>They saw a soldier who never abandoned the front line.</p><p><br/></p><p>What they never saw...</p><p><br/></p><p>...was the general dying behind the armour.</p><p><br/></p><p>Broken ribs hidden beneath polished steel.</p><p><br/></p><p>A heart bruised by disappointments it never spoke of.</p><p><br/></p><p>An arrow of fear lodged so deeply within my chest that I eventually mistook the pain for part of myself.</p><p><br/></p><p>There were battles no enemy fought.</p><p><br/></p><p>Only the ones inside me.</p><p><br/></p><p>When I could go no farther, I found an old oak standing alone at the edge of the field.</p><p><br/></p><p>I collapsed beneath its branches.</p><p><br/></p><p>My sword slipped from my hand.</p><p><br/></p><p>For the first time, I wasn't preparing for another battle.</p><p><br/></p><p>I was simply trying to breathe.</p><p><br/></p><p>Then they found me.</p><p><br/></p><p>Not to lift me.</p><p><br/></p><p>Not to bind my wounds.</p><p><br/></p><p>Not to ask how long I had been bleeding.</p><p><br/></p><p>They applauded.</p><p><br/></p><p>They praised my courage.</p><p><br/></p><p>They celebrated my endurance.</p><p><br/></p><p>They called me brave.</p><p><br/></p><p>But bravery was never what I needed.</p><p><br/></p><p>I didn't need applause.</p><p><br/></p><p>I needed someone to notice the blood.</p><p><br/></p><p>Instead, they admired the armour...</p><p><br/></p><p>and ignored the man wearing it.</p><p><br/></p><p>So they placed another burden on my shoulders.</p><p><br/></p><p>Another battle in my hands.</p><p><br/></p><p>Another expectation upon my back.</p><p><br/></p><p>Because, to them, a soldier exists to fight.</p><p><br/></p><p>Even if he has forgotten what peace feels like.</p><p><br/></p><p>Even if every step leaves a trail of blood.</p><p><br/></p><p>Even if the war has already claimed him.</p><p><br/></p><p>Still...</p><p><br/></p><p>they cheered.</p>
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