It is the beating in the hearts around us. It is the pushing of the souls above us. The memories we can never take back. Strength is heartache, but it is also joy. Strength is the time we waste and the time we take. Strength is what we breathe in and out. Somehow it manages to make us. Somehow it doesn’t matter about anything but this immovable force. Strength is impossible in so many ways. We shouldn’t, in theory, even be able to experience strength. Yet, at the most opportune, and inopportune, moments, we do. We manage to call on an unthinkable source and harness it. There are days where I wonder if even strength feels tired, not weak, not sleepy, but tired… Truly just tuckered out from the marvelous thing that is life. Does strength ever simply wonder if at the end of the day it was all worth it? If there is anything left for strength itself? And sometimes I wonder if true strength is this thing we call upon, or if it comes in spurts. Sometimes I wonder if I’ve ever truly conquered and felt real strength before… If any of us have. And then I look at my life, my family, my world, my reality. And some of it is so hopeless that I decide to put some hope in strength, to believe in it. Because I believe that at the end of the day, strength may just be our savior. That it may just help us to live another day.