she ascends a ladder woven from rope, silken promises and steely encouragement. together, under the light, they are luminous – hard to see the rungs, invisible as they are under golden-silver light.
the issue is that she is given each rung day by day, and only under certain circumstances. the goals are lofty, and the limits she has are as invisible as the supports below her: all that’s left is the knowledge that she could do this all her life, clambering to another goal she’s found.
it becomes that this is all she sees, all that’s left to look at: tunnel vision formed somewhere around the seventeenth rung, and the glare in her eyes is so bright. it makes looking at anything else so much harder; when her eyes refocus, nothing else looks quite right.
she clings on anyway, hands shaking from the effort and eyes burning with tiredness from staring at the light for so long, and takes more wobbly steps. gets knocked down a time or five and lowers herself down the ladder, bears the end result in scratched-up hands and snagged fingernails from the silk drifting down around her.
(maybe someday she’ll live up to the hype)