She was a child with a fear of fire.
She was a child with dreams of art
and nightmares of death
and dying and killing.
She became a woman with a story
clutched to her chest.
She was a woman always walking,
and sometimes faltering,
but never stopping.
She becomes a master of solitude.
She is like a deep lake;
emerald near the shore and
the color of lapis lazuli at the center.
It is painful to know fear so intimately.
It is exhausting to embrace it,
to cradle it in your arms.
Still, she tries