She'd only ever believed herself alive, but awaking consciousness broke her prison, allowed her to burn as the sun. No more cold sorrow melting her fire. No more wreathing torment's shadow. No more fading. She'd only ever cared too much, though her heart said not enough to warm her cold, to allow her gentle heart to extinguish pain. She'd allow time to breath. She'd allow love its desperate breaths. She'd allow living. ©October 2014, October 2022 Christina Anne Hawthorne
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