She was packing her things
when he arrived
no city, no rank,
full of enemies, some disguised
as friends
and full of poems.

Beyond expectations.
What stayed.

And when the world came with swords before words,
she simply said no. Without hesitation.

Because she had already learned
what it costs to lose
someone who sees you
before judging you.

When he said he wasn't leaving,
because the sun grew in his chest,
he could not give up.

She released a knot,
relief,
something deeper.

The recognition
that the reason to wake
was still there.

Still there.

Every morning.

Whispers behind your back
are enough to bring you all their hate.
Nobody really asking what or why
as you yourself is punished if you simple don't comply.

They just want to hate:
Hate, hate, hate.
No matter if it come from lies:
Lies, lies, lies.

This is all it's about
when you look yourself at the mirror,
and you can't tell at all
what I cannot deny.

Hate and love for me are the same
I want to love this world, after the flame,
the hate and the ember.

The reason to awake
is still there.

Still there.

Every morning.

Rising and shining.


Penned by my hand on the 18th of Valnuary, in the year 1005 AF.