I brought it all with me back to my hospital room. The distant ache in my awakening legs from muscles I hadn’t used in weeks, the shake in my hands from the adrenaline that had washed into my system, the hot, tight pain of the healing scar running down my back, the glowing evidence in my heart that I could and would. I was charged. I was magical. Small yet potent, like a venomous beetle deep in the soil that had just seen a path to the surface, a crack that ran deep. I put all this down on paper, letting it heat my pen. I stayed up late, whipped up in a small tornado of writing about the woman
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