Peering out the window, the evidence was clear. Somethings changing. In me - in the air. It hurts and is exhilarating all at once. It is continuous with the weather...

There is a curious paradox that no one can explain: Who understands that spring is born out of winter’s laboring pain, or why we must die a bit before we grow again?

I can see the trees dieing, yet soon they'll emerge stronger than before. I step outside, I can feel the whisp of cool air brush my skin and it feels good. With it brings the memory of cold winter love. Isn't it all so romantic? Even with the lack thereof... it carried with it a hope of tomorrow. I try to take it all in. I run - pleased with my own energy, my own effort. I feel powerful. My voice rings out loud as I trace the lines in the concrete, I spin. I leap onto to work truck, imagining the cold black rack as my own personal scaffolding for my performance. I imagine my audience, picking out certain faces, singing specific lines just for them. They are thrilled as the content ranges, The Last Five Years, Legally Blonde, Les Miserables. When they see my dedication to our circumstances, they can't help but forgive. I sigh, remembering that I am, in fact, alone. Smile, and run inside.

Almost methodically, instinctively, I run upstairs veering left at the first door way. My old room. Stained and rustic brown holding memories... initials etched into the walls. I slide open the window and jump out onto the ledge, one hop to the right a couple of steps and a leap and in a matter of seconds I'm above everything else. The closest mountain I can find on my roof. I breathe in the cold air as it blows my much too long bangs against my cheeks. I smile.

From this height I can see everything. The amount of green astonishes me - its been a good year and a half since I've visited my own sacred place and so much has changed. In the distance I can see the blue and green of my old school. The stadium, and with it the memory of excitement and high school naivety. The toll road, cutting through the landscape. These hills flattened by machina that used to be covered with cows versus new suburban track homes. In the North east lie the mountains, the tips drowned by thick gray clouds. I remember as I child my mother telling me of the princess that lived in the castle atop of Mount Miguel. Never questioning that this fortress was infact merely a power plant. My mind flickers to the image of that same mountain in the darkest night covered with a trace of red. Fires. I shake the memory.

Looking around I sigh in contentment. This never fails to make me feel better. I put everything into perspective here. How small I am compared to that around me. I'm merely one person - yet this world can't contain the amount of will, power, and passion that I contain. I was born for love. I remember... this world needs me.

And that I, am infact, the princess.