There once was a girl who was unsure of her existence. She swirled across horizons because their existences were questioned too. Upon them, expectations were as soft and powerless as desire shadowing the girl’s breaths. Upon them, she was as strong and powerful as the unknown shadowing the world.

On threads of consciousness the girl traveled, carrying doubt in her pockets. Her mind thudded against human limitation like a heart with broken wings.

Often, the thin spindle underfoot immerged into a web, one that glistened behind clouds of collapsing assurance. But the girl was afraid to get tangled in the web and prayed upon by vulnerability’s leader; she didn’t venture past her linear autonomy.

Once, the girl’s doubt began to leak from her pockets, blurring the crisp horizon and spiraling cracks through it’s dissolving veracity. The girl became like a sparrow flying over smoke. She didn’t look down. She didn’t breathe.

But the flow of doubt grew too thick, dissolving the horizon like acid and making the girl scream in terror. Poison of concealed fear ran from her, no longer from her pockets, but from her eyes; burning down her cheeks and creating the glistening web she knew would ensnare her. The horizon was destroyed and human stamina wasn’t infinity, unable to sustain her eddies of irresolute being.

The girl reached up, grabbed a veil of hope that was the sky, wrapped herself in a cloak of stars, and stepped off her thread of the past. Her footprints were left as scars, their existences undoubted.