All at one the lights came on. Things went from mere silhouettes and blurs, to brightly shinning beacons and flags and the truth.
That's also the first time I stared at my wounds. At the figurative scars from every jab, every stab in the back, every single day we kept up the charade.
And every sarcastic tap after that, the power came back. To move mountains and seas. That's when I made sense of you, of how you thought of me.
And with broken glass still attached to my feet, I started moving with the grace and poise you so often laughed at me for not having.
And no more was the power struggle. It ended knowing you control me no longer.
