I wake up every day. I still breathe. I can smile. I laugh. I’ve lost a world I had co-created, but I can still laugh, smile…breathe. I am not good at much, but I was good at you. The days are hard, but I still wake up…laugh…breathe. Maybe one day I’ll be just as good at something new. I think I’ll be ok? Dear God, please, let me be ok.