I thought I could beat it. I thought I was better than it. I wasn't. I was only human. I fought for a day I promised myself would come, because I was ready to be invincible. That idea, the innocent, unchanging, unbreakable idea that I created in my head was the realist thing I had ever known. The idea of something flawless, pristine, and timeless was the perfect constant to an ever-changing variable. Only one thing could ever crush something as unbreakable as an idea, and that was the idea itself coming to life. Willing itself into a reality I couldn't control, it appeared in a body, in a name, and in the eyes of someone I had never known. It was there, but it felt different. I became an invincible vessel to a vulnerable outcome. My greatest weakness became the idea I had once hoped would make me indestructible. Instead, I found myself a slave to the hope I hoped would enslave the fear of being forgotten. I found myself human. Better, battered, beaten, but never broken I became invincibly vulnerable. Finally, I knew I could beat it. I knew I was better than it, because I indeed was human. Beautifully, yet impossibly human.