It was inches away from her fingertips, yet she walked away.
It was all she’d wanted to do since she was old enough to be asked, “What do you want to be when you’re older?” Her answer was always the same. She never wavered. She was the kid who wasn’t quite the social butterfly, but make no mistake – when it came to her dream, she was the brightest star that shone for miles and miles. Nobody could deny it. In her element, she was a force to be reckoned with.
Then came life. She grew up and burdens piled on, the mountain of adversity grew ever steeper. The north wind of opposition raged bitterly in her face at every opportunity. She fought. And she fought hard. Through blood, sweat and tears, she ploughed forwards against all odds. Each time the storm felled her to her knees, she got up and put one foot in front of the other. Over and over.
One day, she was dealt the final blow. She was flung onto her knees. She did not get up.
The storm died down almost instantaneously. Still, she did not move. Along with the storm, a piece of her heart stopped. There she knelt, at her own mercy. The trees grew around her, the birds sang and the sun shone again. Yet she remained still.
She did everything she could to forget. At every mention of her dream, another piece of her crumbled a little on the inside. Every memory and thought of what could have been was pushed aside with an aching determination. She looked right into the eye of the sun, and filled life with distractions. And each time the storm came, she waited for it, kneeling at the ready.