I am not out there on the streets.

I am not part of the puddles of people converging into a flood determined to drown the remains of a dictator’s legacy.

I am not among the brave.

I haven’t the strength for bravery anymore.

But there is a kind of hope in fury that’s kindled underneath my heart, where I am weakest and most tender. It sizzles in short starts, reminding me:

Once upon a time, we were all dragon-brave. We all can be again, in the end.