A long and winding road: it's the path I follow, or does it follow me? Through the weeds and the thistles. I've been battered and bruised before. The scars are visible but laughably pale. I sigh as I take in all the things around me. I empathize and internalize and analyze. Baby, you've come a long, long way.

And now this.

The mountain out of a molehill. Or a slightly large heap of debris. I cannot lie and say everything will work out just like we said it would, but when I close my eyes I can see eternity. And a tiny spec of dust becomes my entire world. Blowing in the wind - we're bending and breathing. We always make it through.

We always do.