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.