I remember that picture so clearly.
So why does it matter?
Why does anything matter?
Wouldn't it be great if you could just...
Cut your flesh and dig around to see what you're made of?
To feel the muscles and blood and tendons between your finger tips?
Or to take a bottle of pills and see the light before tasting the depressing feel of a stomach pumped?
Or to lay halfway out of an upside down, burning car? Near death and wishing for a sweet relief.

When do I get that sweet relief?

Without being a coward.

When do I find the one to let me touch the slivering of scales against my skin without being afraid?
To let my body be enough?
When do I get to laugh and carry on without caring about anyone else in the world?
I want to taste the freedom.
To feel it pull me in and cradle me like a soft child.
To tell me that I haven't been enough for others until this moment.
Where I am more than enough and so much more to look forward to.
When is it my turn to be enough for someone
that is so much more than enough
For me?