More,foryou?

Here, I start my story. Here, with shaky hands and slow breathing, I write out the words that need to be finalized. I am afraid that when I start here, I will not be able to stop. I am afraid that the words will fly so easily from my mind onto this paper that I’ll believe it to be true again, but only time will tell.

Time. Time goes by quickly, yet still the same amount passes by. Time can drag on too, as if you’re waiting in traffic or for an elevator. But it’s still time. And I'm still here, after all this time. The time…a succession of two years, with a year of healing and surprise to follow.

Right. Starting. Starting my story, here I begin:

It was raining, and it was cold – it was winter, so that didn't surprise me. But what did surprise me, at first, was how many people were outside at this time of night – past midnight, I was guessing. There was a lot going on at the time. There was a lot of chaos, and a lot of people trying to organize the chaos. It’s difficult to organize chaos.