|
Some mornings, before my eyelids are even unstuck, I think, "I'm not going to make it, I'm not going to make it, I'm not going to make it." But slowly I carry my stomach heavy with grief to the bathroom, and prepare; brush my teeth, throw on my clothes, slip on my boots and out the door.
It stays with me, though, that bastard, banging at my insides, reminding me at all times of its purpose. "How am I supposed to endure this? How am I supposed to live?"
But at the end of the day, life comes along, and even though it isn't charming or kind or easy, I take it by the hand and say, "Yes, I will continue."
| 