Tattered and weak, she stumbles through the door, she's still so beautiful.
She never feels that way because it's her soul that is weak and tattered more than her body.
Fighting.
Fighting to stay awake during the days when the night doesn't let her sleep. Fighting not to let herself fall down the drain into insanity. Fighting not to lose it. She feels as though all she's done is fight.
She's no longer tired, she's exhausted. That's all she used to be until the extended hours of battling continued, running absent on fuel, clear of energy. Slowly losing the will to fight, she became morose.
Warrior.
She could be a warrior, only warriors come home from war and celebrate. Will she ever come home? A single mother raising 3 kids, working 2 jobs and using a single source of energy, being her will, will refuse to surrender the fight. She will always fight for who she loves, disregarding the cruel world she's doomed to, disregarding her bad luck, forcing herself to forget she's sick so that she can continue to fight. She would never tell you this if you ever asked her, you would never guess according to her actions because she wears a mask of "I'll be okay."
I've learned another word for "fighter"
Is "mother."