Pause

Part of me is giving up. Not surrender, never that.

Not defeat.

Just fatigue.

A deep, quiet exhaustion.

For years, I have played this game of life. And I can admit, without shame, that at times it has been too much. Yet every time I have looked it in the eye, I have walked away stronger. I have worn different faces, different cloaks, different armor for different wars. I have danced through it, breathless. I have stumbled on stage, faltered, been pulled back, revived, and still I returned. Every time.

But I am tired of my own resilience. Tired of being predictable in my strength.

Is it a curse, to always be strong?

Why must I always rise again? Dust myself off, put on another mask, sharpen my blades, and step back into another battle? The adrenaline, once intoxicating, has become routine. Hollow. Expected.

This time, I do not want to get up.

Let it be too late.

Let the challenger win.

I no longer care for victory. All the personas, all the appearances, they are tired. I am tired.

So perhaps I will lay down my weapons.

Not in defeat, but in pause.

And for the first time, I will rest, hoping that somehow the war will end without me.