Here stands a warrior. You can throw her into the deepest of rifts, but she will rise. She will rise because she’s spent a lifetime learning how. You’re not the first to defeat her and won’t be the last, but she will overcome because she’s made of victory. When she was young, she learned that she could stay unharmed by never giving her trust away. She decided she’d rather fall a thousand times than check out of life the safe and easy way.
And so she falls.
Here stands a conqueror. She will grieve every loss because she loves wholly, but her tears are made of diamonds: precious and unbreakable.
Here stands a victor. She feels because her life only has meaning when she experiences it profoundly. Love—real love—is the green of the earth she basks in. She will pluck every star out of the sky before she exists as a dead thing so don’t think the risks she took to show you her shame make her weak. Her power is written right there in her gaze. She’s built of dignity because she’s built of fragility.
Not so long ago, she was picked clean of her pride. They called her sick. They called her frail. They mistook her silence for failure. Maybe her life won’t be free of victimisation. Maybe she’ll fall to abuse. Maybe we’ll drag her through our derision again. Here’s where there is no “maybe”: She will rise. She’ll rise because she’s starlight, she’s victory.