She traced her scars with weary fingertips, stories of battles engraved into skin, a dull aching inside of her body, wounds buried deep within.
Grief and triumph and blistering heartache, molded into bones like clay,
losses etched into the shelves of her mind, they never really went away.
But she felt gratitude.
Gratitude, even, for the loss of the lovers, for the lives, the friends, the connections, her mother.
A fire burned inside of her flesh, surging into her lungs, her bones, her chest.
She swam through rivers permeating with fears, salty oceans, a thousand tears.
She ached for the mother that had carried her around, she cried for that lover who had let her down.
but how free – to let her body be weak, to be ripped wide open, to let salt water sting her cheeks.
She was alive.
Painfully alive, learning how to swim and how to survive.
Seeking light from within darkened caves, treading water, riding waves.
She let the stars fall down on her, she let the smokey fire seep, let the flames swirl inside her blood, she put yesterday to sleep.
Thunderstorms and yellow sunshine, milky clouds and rain.
She found pain amidst the healing, she found healing amidst the pain.

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