In the best of times, I feel invincible. I am planted firmly into the earth, my roots extending warm embrace after warm embrace.
In the best of times, I am fearless. I ride the waters in flow, with the sun and the moon, following my charted course.
In the best of times, time belongs to me. I manipulate it as I choose, but always out of honor and never out of spite. The ticking of the clock hastens the hum of my heart.
But in the worst of times, I feel frail. Pieces of me flutter and chip away in hurried gusts. I am wrecked. I am reckless.
And in the worst of times, I am not my own friend. To her, I whisper words that wash away those parts that glimmer in the sun.
Still, in the worst of times, my humanity remains. Those parts that ache and bleed stubbornly and with relentless, unnerving awareness.
And through those times, I realize the irony of choice and the sting of circumstance buried in my beautiful bones. Though they have broken, they are strong. They carry me through the next step.