Down.

We have so many things to be upheld by. The same things that cradle, nurture and lift us up.

They fill us with hope, passion, and life. Like a vessel to be filled, a candle to be lit.

But when they leave me, they leave me a broken man. A hollowed-out replacement.

…

I used to adore writing, enjoy and relish it because it is a natural extension of myself. To express myself and what I have within.

Words, they paint a picture.

If a picture speaks a thousand words, I would have the thousand.

…

But now, words fail me.

In the face of an overwhelming multitude, I just want to break down and cry.

If you had only known how tired I am.

I am this close.