Rifts

It's always been about fun. About what's easy and exciting and energizing. When I was a child, that's all there was. No friends, no fear, no hard work. I didn't understand the meaning of endurance; I didn't get pain. Though I would fall and tear my skin and bruise my flesh, I didn't understand the word "pain." I still don't.

But as my stature became taller and as my limbs became stronger, so also did my heart. People left me, I broke myself, I saw the world and the suffering therein, and I began to understand.

If there's one thing I've learned in all my years—one thing I've taken in after all this time—it's that people are like rain. They pour onto you, they pour into you. They pour and they pour, and they carve valleys and canyons into you and bring you life and color.

But when they leave, when they choose to stop gracing you with their sweet drops, there you're left, dry. Void of breath, with valleys in your head and caverns in your heart. Rifts.

And that's when you learn endurance.

That's when you learn pain.

When people with life leave, it breaks you.

So I was all about fun and energizing. But with these gorges and gullies in my being, I've grown accustomed to more. I've grown fond of depth.

Done