I pour myself a second glass of wine.
I listen to a fireplace humming.
I create a vision of beauty through my rose colored glasses.
Glasses too narrow. Too heavy. Too much.
I sense something gracing my presence.
I forget the life I used to hold on to.
I prepare for a journey that does not divulge into two roads.
Maybe three roads. Four even. Too many to count.
I dance to a forgotten song.
I sink into the depths of my own fortitude.
I cry remembering what this purpose looked like for me.
Unshakeable. Inevitable. Irrevocable.
A girl. Just a girl. Like me.
Hand on child bearing hip. Legs on old worn down furniture. Lips parched from lofty days. Knees breaking to the sound of cries. Hair matted from the endless turmoil. Breasts heavy from endless feedings. Eyes glazed from the all consuming battle.
One. Two. Glasses of wine.
