This is what I hear in my head...

It felt like I was stopped dead in my tracks. That I had fallen, or maybe even tripped, and maybe even kicked while I was down. I cannot say for certain, all I know is that I was unable to get back up. Stuck in a rut and wading in the muck. Paralysis set in. I was in deep inertia, disempowering and disabling. I wondered what was it going to take for me to restart my engines and get moving again? What exactly needs to happen? And what do I do while I'm at the mercy of the universe? I guess I'll wait. It's the only thing I'm really good at. 

Died on this hill...

I'm still not quite sure why things had to happen this way. What specifically I did to cause such an intense reckoning with myself. I don't understand the reasons for causing each other pain. But mere understanding wouldn't chase away the hurt. It does not call upon the sun when dark clouds have loomed over me. Let the rain come then if it must come. And let it wash away the dust that hurt my eyes.

No matter how hard he tried to maintain his calm and collected persona, he knew it was all a ruse. All he wanted to do was curl up in a ball and hide. Hide from the world. Hide from her memories and this awful, dreadful year that he is leaving behind. If only he could enter a shell and never leave. But his would always be a broken shell, with all her cracks and holes exposed for the world to see. The veneer he had carefully painted to protect and hold himself together was peeling away. There's nowhere left to go.

But you learned to survive...

It was a very ordinary day, the day he realised that his becoming is his life and his home and that he doesn't have to do anything but trust the process, trust his story and enjoy the journey. It doesn't really matter who he's become by the finish line, the important things are the changes from this morning to when he falls asleep again, and how they happened, and who they happened with. The day he saw flowers and learned how to turn his daily struggles into the most extraordinary moments. Moments worth writing about. For so long he let his life slip through his fingers, like water. He's holding on to it now, and he's not letting go.