How long does it really take for the dust to settle after a world is so shaken to its core?

No matter how much you fill my pockets and garnish my head with wreaths of flowers and mend the tears and patch the holes and stitch up my wounds, they haven't stopped aching. Sometimes I'm scared they never will and if you grow tired or frustrated, will the new pieces crumble or will I wander in the dark? Might I get so far from safety and find myself at the edge of the world, would I stop then or lay down and die, or perhaps let myself fall off, uncaring, unafraid; untied from everything that should hold me here. I'm afraid to hear I don't know my own strength, or the depth of my bravery, I'm afraid the truth would be I know there is none, or what little there has been is dwindling. Or that maybe I've always been running on fumes and some way I've willed myself on this far but how long could I possibly keep it up? And maybe I've given you an image of myself that's blown up like a fanciful balloon animal and slowly I am losing air and soon enough I will shrivel away to nothing but what's left, all the broken, trampled pieces I've been left with. I wonder in the dark, what would be too much for you to bare and please, let me never get that gone.

I don't know yet if I'll make it, but you are convincing and all those warm, soft, comfortable things are becoming familiar and I wonder how they were ever not here.

I still don't know about the strength part, the bravery part, those come in waves and it's easy to forget them when they're away.

I've drawn the map, or found it along the way, or realized what I've always known and what comes next is waiting for me to reach out and take hold of it. I think this could be IT, the very same it I've been wanting after for so long, for what seems like my entire lifetime and in reality is almost half of that. Which seems endless or heavy or like it's been an eternity already but I know life is just starting now and what's done was done for some reason I can't fathom and what can be changed is changing and what remains are battle scars but it no longer hurts so much to run my fingertips over them. Like a seasoned warrior I can wake and paint my face and brave the new days because I think I know you're going to be there when I need to lean and when I need a push or when I need to breathe and it's time to rest. Sleeping has never felt so good and waking up has never been so easy. It's hard not to be scared when things are scary but somehow it's easy to keep trying, that's the bravery I never absorbed from you, yet you give so easily. It shines through every action and every word and even every glance in my direction. It's all new and I find myself eager in ways and still cautious but I haven't reached any plateaus yet and if my eyes sparkle it's because I can't stop my heart or slow it down and a soft warm wanderlust is flowing through its ventricles and coursing through my veins and it has me begging you for more. I can't split the sensical from the nonsensical, this newfound appetite is a ravenous one and I think I'll never be full.

Too much, so nice.

notes to self:

Remember to breathe, and don't neglect and never forget and take all the necessary steps and go slower and always be slowing down not necessarily the pace but the waves and the sounds and keep your eyes open and push your mind to stay clear and watch your steps and copy it down and sing out for all to hear.

It's settled. No matter how high the tsunami, all we can do is rise to the occasion.