We need continual points of reference, to send us in the right direction, and to show us how far we've come.
This city is a point. The trees and the lightning bugs remind me that healing is possible. That running to something new doesn't always mean you're running away. And home is a feeling you get when you've found your people.
This body is a point. Every curve, every freckle, every scar, has felt the grasp of someone gone missing, and still survived. It's ebbed and it's flowed, it's writhed in pain and soaked up the sun, it's let me down and far too often I've tried to escape it. But I'm still here and it still houses me, and I'm thankful for its delicate skin.