This is when you stretch out, and there’s no one there to hold your hand. When you curl up into a ball, and there’s no one there to pry you open. This is when you feel more alone than ever, and when even the sun seems to shy its face from you. Your eyes are cast in shadow, so that whatever you look at, seems grey and sapped of life. The flowers have stopped blooming; the birds have stopped calling; even your heartbeat seems to slow. You are tired. You are exhausted. There’s everything in the past to slow you down, and nothing in the future to buoy you up. This is when everything seems to end.
But this is more than defeat. This is about the first time you flick your eyes up to the sky after a long night, and you see the first break of dawn. This is when you see the sun peak through the clouds for the first time in years. This is when you feel the wind in your hair, and the rain on your cheeks. This is about the beach on a summer’s day, and running through a park laughing in winter. This is about the moment when you uncurl yourself, and let the world caress you once more. This is when you take that first, quavering step, and rise to your knees. This is when, with scraped and aching palms, you push yourself from the ground, and find yourself on a mountain top. And from there, you can see everything, and it is utterly beautiful.
