She had never wanted to grow up, but it happened without her permission.

She was tradition, roots, a tender, the oldest, she was calm.  Life moved along and as society would dictate, she tried to keep up, be the person she was supposed to be.  She ran faster, pushed up, made up, drank up and somewhere along the way she stumbled and gave up.  She was weak, spoiled, ruined, she told herself as she hit the pavement.

Her hands got dirty, she scrapped her legs and when it was time to rise, when she could not sit on the ground anymore, she went home.  The world is a tough place for the young at heart.  The desert rain showered away her tears, the sun came up for a few days more and the pink returned to her cheeks.

She turned twenty-one on a summer day.  She walked to the threshold once again expecting sun.  Opened the door with her bright pink balloons and smiled as the rain fell from the dark sky. A deep breath filled her lungs and then slowly slipped past her lips and she knew.  Like the breath, on the breath, she would take it slow, be her own guide.

Where she had rushed out the door before, the world dragging her to keep up with it’s pace, this time she was smarter, older against her will, and she vowed she would not rush.  She would not be a “one life fits all” kind of girl.

There was plenty of time and so many park benches to sit on, rain for dancing, flowers to smell.

That’s all from the laundry room.  But The Movie Just Started.

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