i used to think sacrifice meant something loud.

like a firework, a battle cry, a final stand.
but most offerings are quiet.
you give a little more of yourself each day — unnoticed, unremarked — until the shape of you is changed.

pro deo et patria.
for god and country.

the words are heavy.
and yet, they float so easily from the tongue.

you carry them not like a flag, but like a stone in the pocket.
worn smooth with time.
unseen, but always there.

we say them like a banner.
but perhaps they’re a whisper.
a reminder.
not of duty in the grand sense — but of choosing again and again to give, when it would be easier not to.

some days you feel empty.
like you’ve poured too much out.

and yet, the cup fills again.
because even in sacrifice, there is renewal.

not all flames consume.
some warm.

i’m starting to think that i’m finding my peace.

may it never falter.