Feeling the (long accustomed to) butteflies fluttering, the cold water drenching down right from the top of the head to the soles of the feet, the tiniest cry of the heart that make the head pound, the lip tremble.

Perhaps I was never strong enough for this.

Holding broken pieces that slip past the gaps of my fingers. Its enough for me to realize its no longer whole, no longer what it used to be like, but not quite so enough gone to keep it from hurting.