She sits alone in her house and everything for the most part is in its right place. There is a big gaping hole but she is not ready to get into that yet.

She has clenched her jaws all day as her mind darts back and forth through the possibilities, the internet buzz and flickering lights. Alone at her table (she never sits here by herself, this may be why the gaping hole is more noticeable) she listens to music in the other room as her pen glides across the page. A candle flickers and her tea (designed to help her sleep) steams in the cool air of the room.

She thinks about her personal metamorphosis. She has lived on her own mostly for over a year. She has supported herself, even managing to buy new cups, plates, bowls, an electric kettle, a water pitcher, sheets, a new warm blanket, a vacuum cleaner, and later in the week a new camera will be arriving. All this while paying the bills, the rent. She has a working phone, a passport, and even organic facial cleanser.

She has most of what she needs. That she can sleep at night at all, that she can drive herself these places, that she can buy these things she needs, that she is okay enough to do these things and have these things, that she is an artist doing all of this is nothing short of a miracle.

She was spared by taking some risks and a reset button was hit. Her whole life opened up when she chose to live again.

x.