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Within half the time it takes for a split cell to become a living, breathing human being, I attained this lightness.

Yeah, that one. The very same The Bully had me notoriously convinced I desperately had to have, and so dearly wished to present.

And light I was, but my breath was not.

Oxygen itself began bearing more weight on me than my backside could seat in a chair.

A dried leaf would’ve stood more chances in the ring than both my balled fists. Knuckles protruding, pale, purple.

This whole time, the sound of countless malevolent commands had been mistaken for thoughts of my own in their irrationale, their loudness,

their repetition, their repetition, their repetition

and they had left more traces than my toes could in sand or soil.

Oh, so spoke The Bully, not happy with what we’ve achieved, now are we? Then, with a frown, we met our expectations and then exceeded them so extensively, did we not?

The wind did not cut at my face, instead the flow of air was sliced when it met my cheek bones, and whistled within my hollow jawline.

In the same amount of time it takes for that split cell to become an individual, sentient person, I will see to The Bully, and ensure its undoing. However wary my mind feels about this lightness at the present moment, of this I am sure:

I seek nor lightness or burden. Nor surface or abyss. Nor paradise or peril.

If now, we voice ourselves, if we, cleverly and consistently, manipulate The Bully until it takes our side, we can enable this:

on each day, we’ll have three reasons to smile,
two to laugh,
and one to cry.

One hand to give, and the other hand held.

The Bully will live on, believing it outdid itself, when actually, and this is what we truly aim for: all its hard effort and determination was in fact utterly exploited to put it in its place. Far and even further.

From there, I can only just hear it. If necessary, we can simply cover our ears.

Anything to have it neutralised.

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