you're fine, you just need some time. the ache in your knees will subside. baby you're fine. your skin will turn to iron and your heart will blush again. some day these bullet-like exchanges won't bring you any pain. when the grey ceiling mumurs a "good morning" to you, and when having ammonia in your lungs has become normal to you: even then, bubby, you're going to be fine. choose to be nice to yourself every day. show up, check on your friends, eat your meals on time and rest when you can. it's sad realising how alone you are. why were you running so hard? who was this all for? smiles and words you wanted so badly: they were never for you. how heavy these burdens are, how endless these tears are. the herniated hip from birth, it certainly was signposting to what was to come. it hurts more deeply the more you think about it. the grieving can pause while you sleep. before bed, without much thought: sleep. no lucid dreaming, just rest. without wanting it to: it hurts, it hurts, it hurt. without wanting to: i have to accept it. i think i will have to do that from now. it's hard, but i will be fine. you always have time, you've always got time. you'll be fine.