Something interesting happened tonight; I forgave myself for all those missteps, mistakes, misshapen moments. I forgave myself for looking twice before crossing the road, then three times, then an even dozen. I forgave myself for over-watching my own human-bound figure with such over-powering precision of intensity that at times, I lacked ability to move. I was like a hawk on grand jury who couldn’t ruffle her own feathers. Those times, when I pulled at my fingers, ushering tendons into calculated action without anything to prove. I would sigh, fondling dismay, and pushing another day over, brush-side-up in my palm. There must be solution to set, equation to quantitive risk, air to breathing; I let myself breathe, because tonight was the night I was to forgive myself for gazing idly at the jump-rope scooping in rhythm. Endlessly, I thanked myself for timing my jump, and as my feet picked up in synchronized swim with the clash-crush of fabric touching floor, I knew I was in position to begin again tomorrow, greet the day with sunny eyes, and play my part. Evermore, this time I knew my lines, for I was the one writing them. Cup of coffee and relaxed subtle smirk, leaning back at my cedar-wood adorned desk, patting my complete-being on the back for pulling it off (her mask) and hearing me deal her in.
From the Top.