Boat

It's slowly sinking in.

Very slowly.

Well, we've always known it'll probably end up like this. Probably. That's the operative word that makes a fool, courageous -- in turn making 7% of the population extremely elated with a positive result, and the rest of us just schmucks.

We're 97%, the majority, and yet why does it feel like we're so alone in our misery?

It's a lot more painful than I thought it would be, realizing that, most likely, you won't get what you've been aching to get. Regardless of the preparation, the psyching-yourself-up, it still hurts when it does happen. Compound that with it being agonizingly calculating, deliberately moving. Like a knife being slipped in the pit of your stomach -- a millimeter at a time.

And when the hilt touches your pierced skin, it still won't stop there. Now, you slowly turn the blade -- a degree an minute. Even if it's impossibly unbearable, it's not as if you can tel time, "can you speed it up a little and fast forward to roses and daisies?"

Then you realize no matter how you think it's unbearable, it's still bearable (duh). You just wish that you didn't have to. Then you'll wake up one day finally sporting that giddy smile everyone hopes you'd be wearing... Then we'll all hope that everything that's happening now... all the slow, deliberate, painful things... are worth it.