It's been two months. Two months. Two months.
Two months that feel like two years.
In two months, I have transformed. I've peeled back the layers. I've felt. I've mourned.
Respectively: into a truer version of myself. Under which I hid. Love, fear, happiness, sadness, relief, pride, strength. My broken self.
We all want to believe that we will not break. On some level we know it is possible and so we cloak those fears in terms like, "I can't imagine" and "god forbid." We don't look at it. At the possibility of our broken selves. What we would do. What we would say.
Yet breaking - the great possibility of it - exists for all of us.
And I am okay.
Healing - the great possibility of it - exists for all of us.