Even when given all that I hoped for,
I need the time to adjust my soul, and encourage my heart that this is real.
A disability to manage change or just being human, I'm not sure.
It's like your roots were ripped up, and just lying there exposed to the random elements.
One by one I attempt to place my strings back into my heart where they can be secure.
But finding that time is harder when your muscles have memory of the past.