A love story.
It started with the swaying of tree branches in a storm. Then again in a dream forgotten. The abrupt changing in the way one thinks leads her to view the world in an entirely new light. Interestingly enough, one that did not touch her exterior but rather, shone internally. More luminous than any prophet ever quoted, IT sets her very soul ablaze. It is at this point where she realizes IT was in her all along, building momentum, until every variable in that woman’s life converged at just the right juncture. Ecstasy. It was in that moment when IT’s violent expulsion from the inner deaths of her consiousness was of optimum importance. She needed IT and IT appeared like some metaphorical knight in shining armor. She’d be a fool, however, to believe IT was completely independent in its nativity. Aided by encounters and experiences, the people she loves and those she detests, the growth of this being was fostered. The inception of IT. The creation of love for self, a true love story. An overused, under-practiced, idea brought into the realm of the tangible. For Love must be found within if it’s expected to be seen anywhere else. The ceasing of the need to please is also utterly necessary for IT to prosper. No more complaining about things that cannot be changed and no longer putting off those things that CAN be improved. This light must do its job, must be visible to all or damn itself to suffocate; to be extinguished.
She has decided. It is time. Like oxygen to a flame, IT is vital to her survival. And Happiness will never look the same again.