Suddenly, shockingly, you've all been reduced to pinpricks, every new attack on every new day. Nothing more than the thorns on a beautiful bush of a life. You may scratch my surface, I may forget for a time, but I extract you with ease and head on, leaving behind me a trail; your attempts at destruction, a warning and a reminder not to turn back. It's not that I'm tougher, or my exterior is hardened or I'm stronger or more resilient; I can't be sure exactly if it's any consequence of mine, or just time, or a realization (a re-realization?) of how little it really matters, how little damage could really be done.
In some ways though you're like a guardian angel, you tug at my golden leash if I should falter and if I never leave your sight I am not afraid.
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