When you left, I began to sweep up the egg shells I had scattered across the floor. The eggshells that would keep me in line. The eggshells that would keep you here. I slowly began to feel the floor again. I felt the wood grains as I curled my toes embracing the wood like sand. I felt the creases and the imperfections. My feet no longer bled from the shards left by the egg shells I tried so desperately not to step on. I no longer felt the pressure; I no longer had to hold my breath. As the level of harm subsided, I began to explore this floor. I began to change my steps. I began to dance and glide and breathe and smile. I began to sing and twirl and let go of all I held in. I felt free though battered. Limitless though scarred.
