Why? Why do I fight the battle when I know I can win the war by not fighting? I enjoy the fight, but the enjoyment lasts only while the fighting continues, and I cannot fight forever. True joy lies in the peacetimes, and the fighting should be in an arena, or in a tournament; short bouts designed for the enjoyment of fighting. Why do I desire to make fighting my life, when I know that it is not?
Perhaps a better question is, why do I think that I am making fighting my life, by rejoining the fight? Am I not perhaps simply seeing what fighting is like again? Why do I jump to the conclusion that because I fight, the fighting is for the wrong reason?
And I answer: because I know myself. I can feel when the madness takes me, and taken me again it has. I think of nothing but the fight now; all my life revolves around when I can and when I cannot fight. My opponent knows my weakness, and thus for the longest of times I have been careful never to tempt fate when he unsheathes this weapon that he brandishes at me today. I tempt fate, hoping to regain the joy of the fight without losing myself to the mindlessness of battle.