Time travel is real.
The clock moves regardless. Birthdays can have a way of allowing a form of time travel. If one is lucky enough to experience many, the mirror of the past and the portal of the future open simultaneously. That has happened to me recently.
As I stand in the mercurial doorway between the past and the future, gravity and gratitude fight for space. The past is clear, and yet not entirely. Perspective rounds the jagged edges of some memories and sharpens others. The blood spilled was real.
The pregnant future beckons me forward with infinite possibility, the sting of discomfort and disappointment cleverly camouflaged beneath the gilt. And yet, we soldier on into the unknown. Years past provide tools.
Wisdom.
Emotional intelligence.
Poison detection.
Equipped, I am both wary and hopeful as I step into one more year in this dimension.
Is the journey vacuous? Sometimes. Often. Absolutely.
But not exclusively.
My Scorpio gaze is honed and lethal as I cross the portal.
Venomous birthday to me. Step aside.