This is going to be hard. And uncomfortable. But necessary. I won’t be a bystander. I won’t have regrets. I am going to do what I have to. Whatever I can do. I can’t fix it. I can only try.
My head is heavy.
And there is fog.
A dark, whispering fog that’s wrapping its cold fingers around me.
My eyelids feel like big, red curtains lowered after a performance.