Maybe God has chosen a battle for me. A difficult one with no real outcome. Perhaps he doesn’t know me or care to. Perhaps I’m my own hero.

My eyelids flutter tears away, along with faith right down the drain. These days get longer, this pain gets harder.

As my body lies, arms spread like an eagle in the middle of a snowy glistened ditch, the heat begins. The heat of confidence.

The snow melts away, leaving mud and filth to cover me. My numb, wet hands dry quickly. I find the will to stand. I am my own hero.

Though the gray clouds above taunt me, I begin to skip. I prance in the ugly mud. I laugh at the filth.

Even as this terribleness surrounds me, I believe in myself. Even at the darkest moment. Even covered in the darkest filth.

I am better, now that the cold is gone. I am better, now that I am completely one. And I was my own hero, all along.