Then, she stopped running. She stopped pushing, pulling.
She stopped running.
She looked around and decided that nothing needed repairing, really.
Not today, for sure.
She checked her bank account and decided that it was enough.
Her fridge was full.
She looked inside her closet and found that it only had invitations she could say yes to.
Her kids were good. Forming their life chapters in their very own way. A way she recognized and made her heart smile.
Her dog was sleeping in the sun and her cat was taking as much room on the bed as a baby tiger.
Her mind whispered that surely she could create something. That her bank account could go away, her clothes shrink and the floor fan break (at first, she spelled it "flan")
She knew the whispering. She knew its tempting way. She smiled at it and blew it a kiss.
Then she climbed into her orange hammock with a book. Which she may or may not read.
After forty years, she had stopped running.
SCARED OF THE SACRED