Waters rise as the moon’s shadow passes over the sun and descends on her like a scythe. The golden towers of a world to which she never belonged rise along with all the life constrained by those who play by the rules and grow inside the boundaries of the box in time.
Her back against the wall and barely maintaining her balance on the edge of the abyss of the unknown, still she dances. Still, she is alive. She will not dive in either direction. Nor will she return to the city of her destruction. Until time is no more, she will remain, sweeping her arms through the sky because she is free and because this is who she chooses to be.
What is your essential story of life? What is alive in you?