it's not the quitting i remember it's the almost quitting and what clawed me back, the specific thought, the smell of pine needles warming in the sun just enough, the way the light slants through the trees like it's showing you a secret no one else can see, that's what i carry, the almost, the tiny almost, the thread that held when i thought i was broken it's not even a thought most times it's just a flicker, a memory of another climb, another breath, another step it comes back when i need it most, the phantom feeling of solid ground under my feet when everything else is mud and slipping, it's there, always there, and it's not about strength or will it's just the quiet knowing that even this, even now, is not the end, dex would say it's the body remembering it's own rhythm, i think it's something more, something the mind can't touch, something that just IS, and that's enough, more than enough