For months now I’ve been at peace with my solitude and this picture – smooth, clear blue water. Sunny skies. Not even the breath of the gentlest breeze. Working day and night – for myself and by myself. Whenever I looked at the bruise, it was healing – every day it healed – from red to purple to brown to pink. And then it no longer hurt, either.

So I decided to rock the boat a little – get back out there, maybe feel a few feelings. It had been a long time, after all. Was life supposed to be so uneventful? The thought wasn’t unsettling, no – far from it – it was merely curious.

And then I ran from the match I had struck, even though it barely caught fire, and the adrenaline rush was so unnerving I ran from that, too.

I thought about how broken someone has to be to be so terrified of fire, so terrified of anything that even remotely made the surface of the clear blue water a little unsteady – and I wondered if I was that broken.

Bent, not broken.