Falling cities and fading dreams,
that's what she was told she was running against.
But how do you get up every morning 
dress up to face the day
                                                       on this premise?
An idea is a taller monument than any temple,
how golden or ancient it might look like.
Everyday fights aren't staged on the street for everyone to watch,
curiosity replacing fears,
no applause needed, and to booing she gives no ears.
Delicacy can be an efficient shirt to hide silent punches.
It's not about battles though,
she's not in search of essence since her skin does all the living for her.
Trying, experimenting, growing.
Not expecting destinations nor following dictations; 
breaking the shared anxiety over the fragility of truth,
our truth,
because what matters is to build a story.
Her Story.