Dear (_____)

Dear Injury,

Coming off of you is one of the hardest things to do.  Continues to be so.  Coming off of you, oh beautiful injury, oh beautiful send down, oh beautiful hip check, oh beautiful headbutt, oh beautiful broken broken broken king, is learning to trust.  Learning limits all over again.  I am crying.  I do not want to.

You've changed.  So have I.  We have to speak with one another and learn anew what it means to hurt because what we had doesn't hurt anymore.  What we had is now a matter of inconvenience if it happens again.  A thing to be avoided because I do not want to lose another month of my life waiting to get back to a place where I can go rhinoceros into and between goal posts.

I was hurt.  I am complete enough to operate.  Not complete enough to be healthy.  That's never stopped us before.  Give your body time.  You could hibernate and rest and sleep and conserve until when?  You will always be injured.   You will always be failing.  You will always be working toward operational capacity.  When will you be ready?  I am ready now.  I am ready now.  I can taste it.  I can smell it.  I can touch it and my nerve feels it like a matchbook made of tacks in the rain with a limp cigarette on my lip.

Injury, you've set me back.  I am ready.



with love,

toothy