I did it anyway.
Isn’t that the most tragic sentence of all?
He said I needed to stop. That if I kept going, I’d implode into fragments of wasted past and abandoned future.
He was right.
I did it anyway.
But oh, that other, glorious outcome.
They said I’d never be able to make it, that if I kept dreaming, kept loving, kept giving, I’d run out of pieces of myself to give eventually.
I did it anyway.
But I never did run out.