The time was ticking but the footsteps were timeless. She told herself she couldn't. She told herself she was tired, hurt, and she couldn't win. And her foot steps slowed and grew heavy with self hatred. The growing discontent multiplied, and rage fueled her steps.
She was tired of giving herself reasons to give up. She fed herself poison and it was erupting inside.
She couldn't live off her self disappointment, so she decided to live off pride. She pushed herself harder, she trusted herself, and her feet felt lighter as she passed an insecurity. She flew. There was pain, there was hatred, but all of this heavy was overwhelmed by a hazy sense of determination. She wouldn't allow herself another reason to find fault. There wouldn't never be a limit to personal flaws, but there could be acceptance.
And so she whispered praise out rigid lips, and her shoulders relaxed. She let the tears stream from her cheeks, erasing pent up hate. She ignored the urge to pity herself, because that wasn't what made her proud, and she pushed forward. She was stronger than her mind confined her to be.
She ended proud. It was the journey, not the destination.