They told her to slow down. You’ll burn out. They said. You’ll die. So she tried to moderate, tried to balance. But her slowness turned her lethargic. She crawled on ruddy sidewalks while everyone else ran in shiny shoes. She stopped to smell the flowers, reeking of decay. So she stopped the slow. She laughed in their faces when they told her she couldn’t do it all. She travelled to the end of the world, picking up memories and friends and experiences, piling them onto her back until she was tired and sore and her thighs grew to the size of melons with the weight of it all but she kept going until she was out of breath and could finally purge a sigh of happy, happy relief.