War | 10 : Then Let It Be

There is a strange, terrible clarity in this moment. The burden of trying to prevent the disaster is lifted, replaced by the heavy armor of enduring it. The flags are unfurled, the engines of destruction are stoked, and the maps are redrawn in red.

For months, or perhaps years, there was the dance of words. There were the "if-thens," the "not-yets," and the desperate clinging to the fraying threads of peace. We spoke in the language of compromise, hoping that by giving up pieces of ourselves, we could preserve the whole. We treated peace like a fragile glass sculpture, holding our breath so as not to shatter it. But the countdown began anyway. 10 : Then Let It Be War

were the warnings ignored—the subtle shifts in the wind, the sharpening of steel in the dark, the rhetoric that began to sour like milk left in the sun. We called it "posturing." We called it "politics." There is a strange, terrible clarity in this moment

were the betrayals. This was the stage where the ink on the treaties began to fade, proving that promises are only as strong as the hands that hold the weapons. The middle ground became a canyon, and the bridges we built were burned to provide light for the coming march. For months, or perhaps years, there was the dance of words