There was still the same unknowability about her life ahead. And yet, everything was different.
And it was different because she no longer felt she was there simply to serve the dreams of other people.
She no longer felt like she had to find sole fulfilment as some imaginary perfect daughter or sister
or partner or wife or mother or employee or anything other than a human being,
orbiting her own purpose, and answerable to herself.
And it was different because she was alive, when she had so nearly been dead.
And because that had been her choice. A choice to live.
Because she had touched the vastness of life and within that vastness she had seen the possibility not only of what she could do, but also feel.
There were other scales and other tunes.
There was more to her than a flat line of mild to moderate depression, spiced up with occasional flourishes of despair.
And that gave her hope, and even the sheer sentimental gratitude of being able to be here,
knowing she had the potential to enjoy watching radiant skies and mediocre Ryan Bailey comedies
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