Reflecting Pool

I've stepped back, walked into the sunset. It was my time. I turn to look back.

Taking stock: The burning isn't iron-hot, now. My tongue has nearly forgotten the taste of ashes. I have begun to fill the hollow once carved in my soul. Green things are growing.

Anger. Was it worth the anger? I could say, no. I could say, I was young, I made mistakes. But really, who would I be fooling?

We burned bright, we burned hot, and I wouldn't change a minute of it. I was forged in the heat of that anger. The person I was, under that pressure, without appearances or gift-wrapping, was my self.

That hair's-breath between order and catastrophe became my North Star.

When I was young I cursed, I ranted, I raved. Perhaps we were mad. Perhaps I was mad. I threw myself at every opportunity with the ferocity of a linebacker With my entire being

Perhaps it was too much. OR The prize was worth the price.

I realize now that in truth, I know only one thing absolutely: 1. I'm not done growing yet.