The air was light, and new buds were pushing through the frost. I made my way to the rusty swingset in the yard, and felt as if the weight of the world had fallen off my brittle shoulders. The birds hummed, and pollen danced around me. It’s funny, everything has an end, but that end can always be just the beginning of something new. Something great, and I felt that even though the past year has been a living hell, my life was just beginning. My frail bones still creak as I walk, but atleast I am walking. I am breathing. I feel the sun kissing my face, and I hear laughter, and for the first time hearing that laughter doesn’t make me sad, it makes my face light up with hope. I don’t have to be trapped everyday in a place that isn’t my home, I don’t have to face the tests, and the poking and the prodding. Just a check up every few months, then eventually just every year. Remission is a beautiful thing. Hearing the word itself out loud makes my lungs release all of my stale air. I had become a person who wasn’t really much of a person. I spent months rubbing my eyes, willing myself to keep them open. My friends were replaced by adults who wore long white coats, and had some sort of pill or needle every time we came in contact. I had become a skeleton, with only a thin layer of snow covering my bones. My eyes grew deep into my face, and cast long shadows. I had to be pushed in a chair everywhere I went. But I fought. I fought hard, and now here I am. I sit on the swing that I thought I would never see again. My eyes are closed as I lean back, and let the swift breeze push me back and forth. I can’t wait to start over.
If I had to explain myself I’d start by saying how reckless I am. I obtain so much freedom, and carelessness that at times I can be wildly destructive. I have to ability to obliterate everything in my path, and at times myself. My surface is light, and gentle, with the odd ripple; but if you go further within me I am deep, and dark, and hold mysteries that will keep you guessing forever. I hold life within me but like most, that life can fade out and be replaced with the cold. Some people say that I am a reflection of the sky, oh how I wish that were true. The sky is whole and independent where I am scattered in pieces and am always longing for the shore to pull me in and keep me. It never does, it just pushes me out further each time. I’ll never understand how life can be one thing, and then change so suddenly. How can I be motionless one second, then spinning out of control the next? I guess what I am saying is that I am the calm before the storm, and I am the storm.