the straws, the rush and wet land

You asked me how it feels, being the one on the receiving end of it. I can't remember how the question was phrased, maybe because I was trying to block the sight of you with your face contorted with loathing, maybe because I was too busy trying to find the answer.

And so I said: I felt like I was being carried away by the rush of water on a flooded river, that I was trying to grasp any straw I could to keep afloat and remain close to the banks, praying that any moment now someone will grab my arms and save me from drowning.

That's how I felt the sunset it happened. Helpless but hopeful.

Luckily, my hands grasped some really strong straws and managed to hold on.

Then when I am about to lose it, as I become tired and my hands numbed, familiar hands pulled me out of the water and into wet yet stable ground.

I am still cold. But alive. And hopeful.

I said before and I say it now - I've given up on a lot of things in my life some might think I am a quitter - this one I know deep in my heart, I cannot quit.  I will keep fighting even if it kills me.

Now, hand me the towel and help me dry already. It's friggin' cold out here.