“i. In the new version of my new story, the actor cast in the role of my heart will no longer be asked to play arsonist to crumbled ruins in order to collect on the insurance policy of all she risked in the name of love.

ii. She will also no longer feel the need to erect skyscraper scaffolds to prop up walls too weary to hold the weight of their own aspirations.

iii. Instead, she will plant riotous gardens of wildflowers, sing the shooting stars home to her chest, and discover that the secret to healing has been long naps and deep joy all along.

iv. She will, of course, continue to risk it all for love. Why would she possibly do anything but that?

v. Despite all the burning she has known, despite all the ways the ashes of her hopes have fallen ungracefully from great heights, she has always been born for the rise.

vi. She remembers now that she has never fallen without being caught. My god, her people have such strong arms.

vii. She knows that sometimes, it’s not so much rising as being lifted and held until the singed feathers grow back and the wings are strong enough to spread wide and fly again.

viii. Hands at your back, her dearheart says. She feels them there and knows she is never alone.

ix. Every story that dies gives birth to another. This has been the way of stories since the beginning of time.

x. The actor newly cast in the role of my heart is ready for a new story to begin.”