I sit here in what feels like a constant, quiet rain, and I wonder if it will ever stop. It feels like I'm sinking. I try to move, to go back to the plans I made, but every step just pushes me deeper into the mud. I know I am trying my hardest—I give everything I have—but it all seems to break apart anyway. It's a lonely and exhausting feeling, this cycle of overcoming failure only to fail again.

It's in this place, this deep hopelessness, that the loudest questions appear. Why am I here? Am I destined to just fall apart? Part of me wants to just stay here and let the rain wash over me. But another, quieter part is searching for hope, for just one sign that there's a different path. And slowly, a thought forms… a quiet realization that maybe my worth isn’t tied to the mud I’m sitting in. Maybe this isn't the end. Maybe this is where the new beginning truly starts. It's the moment I start looking for the key instead of just staring at the puddle.

True strength is not found in never falling, but in the will to rise again, especially after the seventh time.

towards One