Age six, you don't know much, but you know but everything. That's where I sat, playing with my Breyer horses. Just enjoying my young adolescent life.

I had no realization how those little Breyers horses would grow with me. Grow on me, become real, and take over half of my heart, all of my brain. They'd consume me, and I'd love it.

The crisp air tugging on my arms. Defying gravity, that's what I was doing. Slowly and surely, bringing up my confidence. Making my life better, stronger, and make me feel whole.

Most girls my age, they go out, party, do drugs, gossip, and talk about boys. But, I'd be out, doing this. Doing all of this, and enjoying my life with my horse.

"Jess, posting trot. Shoulders back, you look like a sack of potatoes."

"You could never get a show ribbon in a position like that."

"Stop slouching."

"Hands together, elbows bent."

"Drop your stirrups."

Every single phrase has been said in some shape or form, good or bad.

The crisp, clean air tugged on my lungs. My body pumped with the rhythmic beats of my horse's hooves. The dust was lost behind us, wishing of pure curiosity to do what we did. To run with us.

Sweat had dripped down my face, pooled near my nose, tickled my chin. I could care less, this is what I lived for, what I was born to do.

My hands pulled back and released in the swiftest movement. His hooves left the ground in slow motion. My hands went forward, sturdy. My body condensed and extended with a deep arch in my back. The height could matter less. It could be two feet or four and a half, it didn't matter. Soaring through air and landing in to the same pace. Bodies pumping as one. A one thousand pound beast and an one hundred pound girl, working together for pure joy and thrill.