Things are not looking good.
A week ago, I was awash with hope. My defenses were down, my heart was softened.
I knew it was a risk, letting hope in it, but I made the concious decision that I could handle whatever consequences came from it.
I was strong.
And now, I’m weak.
Now, things are not hopeful. Things are not clear. Things are spiraling down so quickly I can barely keep up. Now, my head is reeling with the logistics that would have to accompany The End. It’s all so much. Too much. More, possibly, than I can handle.
For weeks I have been saying “I’m OK”. “I’m fine, really.”
But now, I am not fine.