Dear Warrior,

I sat in your tomb yesterday. In the sacred space encrusted with a spear-pierced shield where your broken body was placed. I sat there, heard my laugh echo, had my picture taken there, ran my hand through the moss growing in the corner, sniffed the moldy lining, in the tiny concrete box that your family, your friends, your enemies, all thought belonged solely to you. A space where you could rest, in peace, forever. Where your loved ones could kneel and drop tears and flowers onto the rocks, where they felt you were safe from further harm, from further desecration. You are no longer there, though. Your organs have long ago dissolved, your hair has been woven into ancient bird nests, and your bones have been scattered across the land, by the hands of thieves and the teeth of dogs. Not a trace of you remains there, where I sat yesterday, feeling alive and whole and happy. And now I wonder whether I should apologize or say thank you.