Recently, I was awakened from a long, deep sleep. I had slept for years, and no longer knew who I was. I'd forgotten how to live, how to love, how to hope.
But then I awoke. Like Chopin's Edna Pontellier, I saw that I was living, and dying, by attempting to live within the acceptable confines of a world I truly do not belong to. I see that living that way is no life at all. It is a type of slow suffocation, my breathing becoming more desperate as I attempt to survive. I just cannot do that any more. And now it's too late--I have risen, and I am taking the steps toward a full life. I can never go back.
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