I am without a parachute, free falling and screaming into a dark abyss, awakening in a sweat that chills me to the bone. It is a crash day, a recurring cruel joke played on me. I awake in the morning ready to go, then there is the cold smack to my face reminding me of what has passed, what is gone, what will never be again. I am frozen and then it starts: my heart racing, the pain in my shoulders as they take the familiar tight position and color drains from the world, leaving me in the coldness of black and white. I breathe (I have been told that helps) or I cry, and sometimes I do both. So I move forward, with my broken heart and a heaviness in my gait.
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