The night was heavy, hot, and cold. A paradox. But only from the outside. He tears at the bandages trying to get the last of the blood to shake free. The dust and sand falling to the floor, he stood unabashed at what was given to him and what he returned. Freely, honestly, and without malice.
"What if I wanted to fight? Beg for the rest of my life? What would you do?"
He watched the pain unfold. Origami in reverse. Trying to get to the roots. The core. The center of the Gordian Knot. To see it released and watch her arise resplendent and whole. The weight released.
"You say you wanted more. What are you waiting for? I'm not running from you."
But, like all things, his hands destroyed whatever they touched. His voice tinged with too much sorrow, guilt, and pain to be heard clearly. His dusty boots back on his feet, past in flames; he continued his walk alone.
"I tried to be someone else, but nothing seemed to change.
I know now, this is who I really am inside.
Finally found myself fighting for a chance.
I know now, this is who I really am."
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