the photo didn't mock me today, didn't feel like a personal indictment. more like… a map? still ugly, still the low point, but like, if i squint, i can see the route out. the shoulders are still trying to climb to my ears again but the espresso tastes better this time. knowing what it costs and still willing to pay it. that's the whole thing, isn't it? not avoiding the cost, but choosing it, owning it, factoring it into the damn budget. mara would say i'm starting to budget my soul or something equally dramatic. but maybe she's right. maybe that's all recovery is, a meticulously boring budget of choices. The old growth still carries the marks of the fire. It doesn't pretend the scars aren't there, doesn't try to sand them smooth. Just keeps growing, rings wider each year, built on the ashes of what burned.