To her old potential a woman appears. She asks: “Why did it have to go this way?”

“What way?”

“Why was I so sick, so unwell?” the woman is clearly distraught and confused. “And more so done with the world around me back then?” she adds. “And why did people have to perceive me in the way that they did? I hate it. I’m not that person!” she continues. “And it’s not fair. It’s not fair I couldn’t show the world who I truly am. And, most of all, it’s not fair I couldn’t be the way Ì am.”

“Well… Maybe you were you, maybe you weren’t. But how do you know it’s not fair? What would’ve been fair to you?”

A bit startled, the woman says: “You know how capable I am. You gave me all these talents but nowhere to explore them. Or worse yet, the places were there but the moment was never. Or vice versa. It just frustrated me knowing the “other side of the coin” existed, with no way to reach it. And the frustration became even bigger when later I realized there were so many times I could’ve chosen differently but me, myself, felt like I couldn’t move in a different direction. So I could yet I couldn’t. I don’t even blame you, I blame myself. But when that feels too heavy of a burden to carry I blame my environment a bit, the people that surrounded me. Yet, in my depths, I don’t. I saw and see my own doing in it too much to truly believe they caused my suffering. So I can only ask now: Why?”

“You ask yourself a lot of questions,” it noticed. What first appeared as a grayish cloud now transformed in a ball of fire.

“Would a why, a reason for it all, make you feel better?” it asked.

“Probably… Maybe. Honestly, I don’t know. I feel the why is obvious. It’s so I had to learn.” The woman’s shoulders relaxed a bit, as did the strain in her voice. “You once mentioned: you can’t blame a newborn child for not being able to speak or walk yet. But at the same time I feel the time for me to learn these things could’ve been shortened.”

“Maybe it could’ve, maybe it couldn’t have.”

“Yeah, thanks for that,” she said ironically. “I guess I’m grateful to be here now. In the same way it could’ve taken even longer.”

There was a silence.

“I should be more grateful,” the woman added.

“Does it feel good?”

“What?” the woman asked.

“To add these continuous obligations?”

The woman stopped and noticed the waterfall of thoughts that had been coming through her mouth.

No, of course it didn’t. It hurt her deeply to go searching for these parallel possibilities all the time.

“So why do you continue to do so?”

She took a moment to consider this question.

“It feels deserved. I deserve to be punished,” she said.

Strange words to say out loud. Words that cross the border of real and complete nonsense. Of being believed and not at all. “What do I even believe?” she wondered.

“So?” the fireball asked.

“So what?”

“So what dò you believe?” repeating her thoughts.

“You ask a lot of questions,” she answered.

“That’s all I do.”

She continued: “To be honest, I don’t know what I believe anymore. I believe it all. These thoughts all exist simultaneously. They’re driving me crazy.”

“But you don’t actually believe them?” it asked.

“Not really, no. Not anymore.”

“Good.”

“Tomorrow’s a new day. Right now is a new moment. What I believed a second ago has already passed. The person that believed it as well. It’s all about the present.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

There was a silence again.

“So what about your potential? About me? What about the people that couldn’t see your fullness back then?”

“What are you even talking about. I’m full now.”

“You really are going mad.”

“You think so?”

“No.”

“Well…”

A strange feeling occurred between them. A distance seemed to gently instill itself more and more. With these things it’s never clear what triggers them. Was it a misplaced word? A little physical distant? A certain look?

The fireball moved back and forth a bit, uncomfortably fidgeting. It then changed its form again, this time into a pool of water. The liquid got thicker and a deep red.

“I like what I do, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“And what I am, and where I am. Most of the time.”

Then what’s the problem? Why not all of the time?”

“It’s because of you,” she answered bluntly.

“Me?”

“Yes, you!” she yelled, clamoring. “Your mere existence, your presence is… is… is…”

“Unwelcoming?”

“More than that!”

“Unnerving?”

“Horrible, horrific, horrifying!”

“Those all mean the same,” the puddle remarked.

“They’re similar but definitely not the same. Like twins… at conception, birth and at old age.”

“OK.”

“OK.”

The last silence came around. They recognised it. They both looked around, then at each other, and finally at the ground.

“I’m sorry for blaming you as well,” finally the woman said. “I know it’s not your fault for existing. I don’t want you to feel like you have no right to exist. And I know me saying that doesn’t even matter.”

This time it came towards the woman. The liquid spread around her feet and kissed them, holding them tightly, before completely hardening. She picked up one of the crystals that formed on it. Then looked as deeply as she could into it.

“Thank you.”