At an all-time high
I tend to carry myself and the weight of everyone else's problems on my shoulders. I carry them through the rough weather, hold their hand to help them stand and face the dawn.
That doesn't leave me much of myself left to deal with my own problems. So I quietly stress inside until I'm ready to burst.
Sometimes I just need to scream. Sometimes I just need to cry.
But I still don't know how to let go of the past. I'm at the mercy of the memory of those I loved, trusted, and lost.
Where would they be with life, were they still with me? I like to imagine the difference they would have made on the world, the people they would have touched and who would have been better because of them. I want to believe that they are still with me, and that I'll find them in another life – because if I don't have that to hold on it, I think I might break.