I’m glad that it seems very unlikely that I’ll be offered that kind of deal. I’m glad that all the creatures that know the little black stone of longing wedged in my heart aren’t around every corner wanting something I have. (6/6)

And then again, “of course I wouldn’t. I’d stay so wise and determined and see these challenges through to understand the experience at the heart of them. I’d keep being brave and resilient.” But then there’s the little doubting voice that wonders if I wouldn’t fold. (5/6)

I understand all the figures from myth who make you say “well of course *I* would make a wiser choice in their shoes” because I would trade the pieces I can’t feel just to understand the rest of what’s wrong, I would trade too much, too much of myself to get the parts I’ve lost back (4/?)

The older I get the more I understand what it feels like to have the kind of ferocious dissatisfaction with something that you’d make a clearly-stacked deal with the fae or a trickster deity or some kind of being under a bridge or at a crossroads (3/?)

I’m holding the balance between “I’m so glad they work correctly!” and “Then why the fuck can’t I feel my left foot normally? Why do I have loss of sensation and dexterity in the last two digits of each hand? Why do I fall over so much?” (2/?)