You can get a boxer out of the ring, but not a fight out of a fighter

She’s a fighter, one in a million. Life mocked her, made fun of her in every way possible, tested her patience, punished her for mistakes she had not made. It tortured her until she wished to disappear, to fade away, and to become only a breath of wind. She didn’t breathe well because she had no air to breathe freely, moments lacking in character and blank stares reflected her faint appearance. Every morning, life dragged her by the hair and threw her into the ring to fight it. Every day, to hell and back. She was devastated, broken, and on the verge of destroying everything she struggled not to give. Her face was in cuts and pale color. She plucked her hair, cut it, and changed her look without even knowing it many times, but she couldn’t change her skin, her identity remained the same. She was in prison, pounding on the walls, banging on her chest, trying to kill the feeling of powerlessness. She was screaming in her dreams, persistently dreaming the same situations and couldn’t change them, just like in reality. She had thought a thousand or more times to end the fight and surrender, but her pride didn’t allow her to admit defeat.

She hadn’t fought so long to give up now and couldn’t let all those years of hard work and dying go in vain. Because of that, she learned to endure the hits. Life was a small, timid and not-so-stable figure of a man when she began to fight, but soon found new strength, tricks, and tactics that she didn’t know she had. She soon molded her heart into stone, and her eyes expressed more than she did. There was no voice inside her, only a roar. She discovered the weak spots of a life that didn’t leave her alone and started to punch back. She hit twice harder at every point, and it didn’t take her long to improve the game. She was created for changes, and waited for her time for so long, kneeling for years, insulting herself for everything she is. For so long, she felt that life was much more powerful than her, that words thrown at her were what she might deserve. She is different now and again stays herself but fights it differently. Because now she knows how. Because now is no time for yesterday, nor for the years before. There’s no need to seek the meaning of something cruel, for she realized that she could reciprocate in the same degree, but in a way that would shape her into everything she had always been. Because, the pride of its hits cannot compete with her desire to emerge as a moral winner, to be a hero for herself, a fighter that life has never encountered in its ring. One that will overthrow its prejudices and dispel beliefs and theories that it’s impossible to defeat him.

Life finally realized that it was time to accept defeat and find a new victim to torture. She felt relieved. A free fall back, but the feeling was unique. After that, she soon had everything she ever wanted, too, a bed covered with roses, and thorns have fallen from her palms. And she slept in it, with all her dreams and self-love that she regained. But something has changed in her. She started to miss her thorns. The fight, the blood flowing through her veins and adrenaline that drives and dominates her body. She missed bleeding through her cuts and the feeling of delicious pain absorbing her being. And then she looked again at the place where she was dying and was born different, every time. That every time was a map for her final destination. To win or allow the last victory to be unfinished. You can get a boxer out of the ring, but not a fight out of a fighter. And so she entered the ring again, and life joined her. They shook hands like old enemies. However, this time, she challenged life.

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