She was a child of war. Always trying desperately to fit in and be strong. She was a survivor of hurricanes of judgments. Trusting only herself and no one else. She was a fighter who would not bow down to any enemy. She battled for her respect and position in a hectic government of lies.
And one day, she broke.
It was a coincidence i was passing by just then. I saw her deep into the pits of hatred. I pulled her out and nourished her. I learned about her story and felt pity. I told her to get her fists up again, to get a radiant smile on her face and grow a confidence unlike no other. I groomed her into a leader rather than a fighter. I stuck through her troubles and gave her hope.
But i guess she just craved for the fighting. I guess she just wanted to get out on the battlefield and enjoy the thrill. She wanted to be judged and be punished just so she had a reason to answer back.
She left me bleeding on my honor, leaving me with false medications and hoping i would not see through her actions. She threw away all that she was made of and returned to her old profile. She hoped that i would accept this, and after my own personal hell going over me, i have.
But her eyes still cry for that care and her heart still begs for my return. I know i cannot go into this war, for my presence there would mean death. But watching her fight again with no real determination makes me ponder over the same question over and over again.
Why do you still fight?
