#37

And I dreamt of death—

of being the one who failed, yet withstood my ground

against a thousand—NO—

a million enemies.

I would remember none of it—

not the moment metal gently caressed my armor,

nor the pain seeping through the cracks into my body,

as I pushed with all my might,

impossibly,

against the tide.

A single grain of sand—

that would have been me,

one among the many who’d fallen.

A line in history.

But as for my story,

I am not a single grain of sand.

Oh, I am far more grand.

I am more than anything most men would dare dream of.

I am the wall—the mountain

no one passes lightly.

I am the absolute obstacle,

the pinnacle of pinnacles,

the immovable object.

The only one.

With all the glory and honor,

I basked in that moment before I—

I am the statue shaped by Egyptians,

the frozen guardians carved by Athenians,

the very sentinel molded by the hands

of architects and inventors.

I am the one who endured it all.

Though my eyes have closed,

so too has the path to the enemy’s victory.

I am the pillar of our triumph.

I am the one who stood.

I am the unbreakable.

And this was all just a dream.

I woke covered in bruises, scars, pain, blood, and bandages.

I know it’s supposed to hurt—

it really does—

yet I can’t help but smile.