Pleasure
The precious gift of life she’d learned not to take for granted.
Pleasure, to her, was something to be earned. Through sacrifice. Restraint. Labor. Only then, could she allow herself a taste of delight.
Without the work, making choices grew painful; she couldn’t manage the calculus. Were she merely to awaken, stumble to a darkened room and waste away the morning on coffee and a paperback, where was the struggle? Where was the growth?
The precious gift of life she’d learned not to take for granted, a lesson she’d picked up as a child, after the accident. Never should a day pass without stepping into it, leaving a footprint.
For who was she if not moving toward something?
Love this one!