That doesn't matter when life has other plans, and things get thrown askew; off the path you've beaten.
Sometimes hurt finds new places, down deep in the heart and into your soul, that you never knew existed; that burning, aching pain that takes your legs out from underneath you and can never be reined in or understood.
Life doesn't care about your plan. It doesn't care about finding the things you've always wanted and finally feeling right. It doesn't care about waking up at 5 am, the sunrise creeping over the window sill, and realizing nothing has been more perfect than now.
It tests your strength, tries to take away the things you've worked hardest for, the things that have become most important to you and are a part of you now, woven into your fabric. It strips your interior out.
And, at the end of it all, you're left with nothing but a blank piece of paper and a pen to try and draw a map to get you back. Trying to navigate out is futile when it was realized a long time ago there is no road that goes back.
Instead, you just spend the whole time trying to pinpoint what went wrong, what you did, said. Why you've lost the most important thing.
They say it will get better.
Just give it time.
I don't think anything truly gets better. "Better" is a subjective place created by those with good intentions and cold comfort. We just try to patch up the gaping wounds that are left and we develop coping mechanisms to try and safeguard what is left.
And we grieve.
Hard, deep, guttural grief that shakes the foundations and comes from those deep places where "Better" is not even a concept.
It's a stark realization that things can change quickly when you're caught up in the hope and promise of it all, confident and colour blind. You can get caught in everything moving forward and feeling like all you've worked for is finally there in front of you. Then, one shift of the ground and you're sinking.
Fall down seven times, get up eight.
And try to go forward without the pieces left behind, when things were truly better and the old adage of hard work paying off seemed like reality.
Someone told me yesterday, "Grief is just love with no place to go."
And that is the most perfect analogy.
How did I get here?
How do I let go?
When you are all I have known.