Laying beside endless throngs of wildflowers, I count the clouds and watch them take shape. The whimsical sky, a canvas of colors, reminds me of journeys to heavens and hells. I’ve walked paths that made me a queen and a peasant, a heroine and a villain, a nobody and a somebody. Each step softened my heart or forged it to steel. Pebbled alleys, concrete blocks, asphalt roads— as my soles grew thinner, I found respite next to wildflowers, greater in number each time I returned, laying on cushy grass, surrounded by prickly vines.

I feel the ground pull me in, and I am once again in my own skin. I watch the bright sunset drown my day, rewinding the saga of lights and shadows, a lull to let drowsiness engulf me and put me to sleep. Accepting that when I open my eyes, all I see is an empty room and a floral-patterned blanket, yet the tingles will remain, the scent of soil stuck to my nose. When I rise and head to the door, I know that whatever path lies before me today, I resist, I relinquish, I persist, I’ll flourish, once again.

For the Instagram @firstlinepoets’s July project. The first-line is attributable to @mylifeasariver.