I see us standing in front of a mirror–one of the ones from a fitting room that is angled in different directions so you can see more sides to your outfit or body. But at first it's only a torso and a head in the mirror, floating at the appropriate level for a torso and head, but with no pelvis, no legs, no feet.

And there's a sense of frustration in the air as the arms reach forward and swipe on the mirror to the left. In the mirror a pelvis appears, but it doesn't feel right, so you swipe left again. and again, and again, until there's finally a pelvis that feels okay enough to leave in place.

Then you swipe at the bottom of the mirror and do the same for legs and feet. Over and over again, swiping until there are legs that feel, again, okay enough.

But this isn't what you truly want your body to feel like. It's all a little disconnected and ill-fitting.

Your brain, however, is relaying the message that it's fine, this may even be as good as it gets.

But something in you refuses to settle.

You stop your stride away from the mirror, pause, turn around, and look at yourself again. You can see all of the ill-fitting edges and the joints that don't align, you can see the patches between organs and feel the tingle beside your eyes that let you know this vision isn't it.

And for lack of any tool other than your voice and your emotion, you take a deep breath in, expanding and pressing against each of these incorrectly fitted pieces, and you scream.

You scream so loud it shatters the glass, it shatters the bones, it shatters everything but your Soul and Spirit.

"There," you say, "now that's big enough."

Now you're more space than solid. You've finally released what was keeping you constrained and small. You voiced your discomfort and energetically remade yourself.

In all of this space is relief.

I hear you, again. "If I can remake myself, what can't I do?"

Yours,

Ash