She came home, with starlight still clinging to her eyelashes and dew drenched skin where there was hardened armor before. She returned with a lightness, stripped of pretense; and she had no worries to hang at the door. She did not stop to check her reflection or straighten the mess of her hair, but she had a raw beauty that outshined the strained perfection she left with. Color seeped back into her, and with her the world. The crimson sunsets she faced were burned into her cheeks. Her midnight sojourn reflected a new sharpness in her eyes. The still white of winter lingered in her posture and the morning sunrise still dripped from her hair. She came home carrying less, saying less, doing less, and yet somehow having so much more. She came home changed, new, and yet more herself than she’d been before.

© Cristen Writes


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