State of Grace

And like this, the first spring storm opens me. I was torn from complacency. The sorrow nearly suffocating me, and I strangled paper for release. I drenched it, scratched it, savage in form and it responded. I left it on a white wall, blinked, and took it down; graphite smudges the only remnant. It sits like a dog at my feet.

Or a child. And like that, I moved my chin up and parallel to the ground. I talk unashamedly, no apologies in sight. I am here, on this strong earth, so let the flood come. A month ago I taunted the universe, calling insults and begging to hit me harder the next time. Sometimes being human goes to my head and I forget the universe always answers. 

Yet I am here, surviving. A colleague asked me why the "point of no return" is my favorite idea to iterate in my work. My heavy lids only let me sigh at the time.

I know now that the changing event, the pivotal point of any story, is always the time one learns and grows. It is my first love, this passion for learning. I know only life from it.