The pulse of your body as it moves through this world is real. The rhythm of your breath is trying to speak to you, each time you dismiss the sounds, you disown yourself a little bit more.
There is no use in faking the funk. It will always roll in eventually when your throat has a few less frogs shifting around in it.
Roll with the punches, but don’t let them trample you. Show them that you can punch right back in the moments that the bruises seem worth it.
Long story short, you will make it home. You will end up at the tent that the girl you used to love told you about. You will sit in front of a typewriter. You will have better words for the feeling, better ways to talk about the colors. You will know the pulp at the bottom of the glasses by name and continue on with your sentence.
If you’re not there yet, you’re not behind schedule. You’ll get there in time, so look out the window on your way there.