That little fireball I told you about a few posts back survived. Saved by a surgeon's knife and the titanium force of her will. Her body hammered by steel. Pulled from wreckage with muscle torn from bone. Ligaments shredded among cracked ribs. Blood pouring from her brain.
Wounded most deeply by the loss of the love of her life. A crash that almost took them both. The only safe person she'd ever known. The surgeon did what they could to repair her pumelled mind. They could do nothing for the thousand cuts across her heart. Lacerations of lost love that will never fully close. Remnants of guilt and sorrow from having survived when he did not.
And still she lifts her head, stitched together front to back where the knife relieved pressure on her brain. Unable to touch the loss inside. I watch as she raises her eyes and sets them straight and unwavering on the impending storm of sorrow. Spits blood from her lips and stands on shaking legs. Stakes herself steady on this ground as the edges of the tornado draw close. It's winds blowing the hair that remains in their gale. Steeling herself for another round at this thing called life. She is the most heroic thing I've ever seen.
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