Battle wounds of warrior spirits. Something within me longs to emulate that mountain. Wants to erupt with such violence and heat and force that the very foundations can’t hold. An inevitable collapse. A changed shape rising out of falling ash—scarred, strong, and with an afterlife so fertile and mineral-rich, luscious rainforest springs from the soil for millions of years … The knowledge that I’m not there yet—that I haven’t erupted and collapsed and cooled and grown solid after all this time—stings. I’ve worked so hard. Wanted so much to intellectualize and overcome my loss. I’ve read the
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