It's ironic and tragic.
The one who is seen as cold is begging to cry.
The one who is deemed strong is trembling and groaning.
It's a sad sight.
It's what brings about growth.
In the moment where the pain is nearly unbearable the thoughts are always the same;
To feel is a terrible downfall until you need someone to feel for you.
To care is a problematic characteristic until your wellness is at stake.
Surely one would be able to survive alone.
The pain would be greater and perhaps spending the impending storm in absence of others would create louder echoes of lone weeping, making a more silent soldier and skin twice as tough.
Surely one would be able to survive.
But would one be less alive after such?
In the midst of the quiet acceptance of help and pride-stripped acknowledgments of weakness a sliver of humanity awakens just as weary eyes fall.
Like a strange drug where creating a situation for pain and disability is the only way to become tangible and finally between shallow breaths and a sweat drenched brow and a burning in the center of each cell... life is real.