Here she was. At the same fork in the road she had been at years ago. She needed to make a choice.

One road extended into a bleak fog of anger and insecurity. The trees were shriveled and showed no signs of life. Yet the trail continued on, covered in trampled flowers and haunted by the sounds of silence. 

She remembered this route well. She remembered the fight that came to her at the end, the push for independence and freedom and love. She remembered finding it and wishing she had taken a different route. A route without the lies that slowed her down, the ugliness that clawed at her in her dreams. 

The other road was blinding to look at. There was so much light and warmth that inundated the beginning of the trail. She could almost feel all the darkness falling from her, and it hurt.

She stood there. Why did giving up all the anger and resentment hurt? Because she felt powerless. All that light burned her down to a vulnerable nakedness, a place where honesty and truth felt like weapons of hate but were only being wielded by love. 

Her feet felt like led. Progress of paralysis? That was her choice tonight. But she didn’t have the heart to make it. 

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