When I wake up, my heart doesn’t split into a thousand pieces. My head doesn’t pound with questions asking me why us, or how are we here. When I reach for a mug for my coffee, my hands don’t shake when I see Mum’s mug.
When life slips down the hill, Katie and I often turn to each other and ask each other the same question: What is the point? With our feet slipping, trying to stop everything from falling, our arms aching and our bodies covered in mud, we scream WHAT IS THE POINT IN TRYING SO HARD?