Rowing out onto the small lake, she greeted fresh perspective. Life was potential, choice. The impossible weight once slumber’d in her chest now absent, alight somewhere, a part of birds. The cool day welcomed her, through the door, into the new her. The new her was fresh and bright and bore little resemblance to the old her. The old her was another person, she thought, rowing further out onto the small lake. The old her was a person she didn’t really know anymore, had never really known, had been a guest that stayed too long in her apartment, eating her food and touching her things. The old her was a musty smell now swept out through open windows, gone, never there, a shadow, if shadows were possible on this day, a day of sun that left no shadows, a day of shine that came at her from all angles, from her. At the center of the small lake she took the deepest breath, touched the bottom of the inside of her with breath. She was smiling, she was crying. She lay the oars to rest in the belly of her boat and turned around and pushed the body into the water where, without a fight, it sank to the bottom of the small lake.