Moving Mountains

She called us "f-buddies." I didn't know how to feel about that.

On the inside, I wanted to claw back and scratch away that title. To me, it represented a time when I was lost, unguided, and buried in my own darkness.

But it was true, even if I didn't want it to be. I was too scared to admit that she meant so much more than a casual label to me. She was passion. She was fire. She was an electric, terrifying energy that I was too afraid to acknowledge.

At the time, I stood at a crossroads between self-destruction and self-discovery, and I hadn't chosen a direction.

War can do terrible things to a person, and the darkness I was carrying was heavy and largely self-inflicted. But even though I resisted her, she persisted. She looked past my armor and saw my pain. She saw my demons, and she never ran. She knew there were storms I had to let happen inside of me before I could ever be whole again.

So she waited. Patiently. Quietly. Believing in me long before I believed in myself.

The storm has passed. I am finally whole. It is my turn to move mountains for her.