When you think of the word, in a deeper sense, what is the first thing that comes to mind?
For some, it’s falling in love. For others, it’s falling in life. The two are dramatically different, and one person will probably think of the two different sides at multiple different points in their life.
For me, lately, it’s been the latter. I’m falling, and not in a good way. Every step I take, I hit a rock or a bump and fall flat on my back. The breath is stripped from my lungs, the optimism from my head, and the hope from my heart. And when I finally pull myself back up, there’s this crushing weight in my chest and stomach and limbs and pretty much every where. It tugs and drags me down until I fall again, and each time I hit harder.
I don’t know how much more I can take.