Nobody loves a stalemate. Liking it is another matter. Sharing bed sheets in a downy purgatory. Softness, no matter the position you prefer. You could lie in satin for eternity, but you’ll never love it. It’s a commitment in name only. A lovely open room with nowhere to sit. Standing, never acknowledging the windows, exits that could end the imagined battle whose victory is avoided at any cost, destitution embraced, bare bones coveted over any semblance of concession, a feast of truth left to rot along with the minds of men who desire the battle over the simple option of peace