When she fell, she fell apart.Cracked her bones on the pavement she once decoratedas a child with sidewalk chalkWhen she crashed, her clothes disintegrated and blew awaywith the winds that took all of her fair-weather friendsWhen she looked around, her skin was spattered with inkforming the words of a thousand voicesEchoes she heard even in her sleep:"Whatever you say, it is not right.""Whatever you do, it is not enough.""Your kindness is fake.""Your pain is manipulative."When she lay there on the ground,She dreamed of time machines and revengeand a love that was really something,Not just the idea of something.When she finally rose, she rose slowlyAvoiding old haunts and sidestepping shiny penniesWary of phone calls and promises,Charmers, dandies and get-love-quick-schemesWhen she stood, she stood with a desolate knowingnessWaded out into the dark, wild ocean up to her neckBathed in her brokennessSaid a prayer of gratitude for each chink in the armorshe never knew she neededStanding broad-shouldered next to herwas a love that was really something,not just the idea of something.When she turned to go home,She heard the echoes of new words"May your heart remain breakableBut never by the same hand twice"And even louder:"without your past,you could never have arrived-so wondrously and brutally,By design or some violent, exquisite happenstance...here."And in the death of her reputation,She felt truly alive.
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