She almost made it to the last bar

She almost made it to the last bar.

Her hands on the second-to-last, so far

from failing, or so she thought. The sun was bright.

The sand below was soft. Everything felt right.

Then her grip failed. Her body went down

and I watched her fall. I watched her frown.

She landed hard on her hip. The breath

went out of her like she was close to death.

For a moment she just lay there still.

I waited for the tears. That was the skill

she needed to learn—how to cry and heal.

But she didn't cry. She looked at me. Real.

That look. That question in her eyes.

Is it okay to fail? Is it a prize

to keep trying? Will you still love me

if I can't make it? If I can't be

what I wanted to be? She sat up slow.

Dusted off the sand. She had to know.

And looked back at the bars. At what

she'd almost done. She didn't move. Just sat.