Today is Friday, May 21, 2021.
Two months. Two months since the accident. Two flighty, never-ending months composed of fifty-four days so swollen with heightened emotion, they've all met the same fate — popping like firecrackers, breaking silence into shards.
A while ago, I stopped trying to outrun the firecrackers. A while ago, I learned to dance over their explosive little disruptions — use their bursts as a pulse, as a beat to my own song, as a means of resilience and healing.
Resilience is a complicated and contradictory beast. Its primary ingredient is a sense of total, inescapable defeat. The only way out is through, they say, but they don't talk about how the trip "through" is so incredibly dark. And it's a journey one must take alone. But I've made a habit of homing the ugly, dark places in life, and I'm not afraid of this. Not anymore.
It's time to return to life as I knew it. The life I had before, but better. It's time to delve back into my writing. To explore and create fictional worlds.
And so, starting today, I am.
You're only as free as your mind is, and luckily, we're all in control of that.