In a possibly meaningless cosmos, your stubborn insistence on mattering is the only rebellion worth having.
Hang in there.
No, really—hang.
Both hands, ten fingers, grip until your palms burn and your knuckles turn white.
Falling isn’t graceful. Falling is catastrophic, and honestly?
It’s embarrassing.
It isn’t a slow-motion fall into a safety net of self-care and comforting playlists. No—falling is losing. And you? You’re not a loser.
So clutch like your life depends on it. Fight through the ache in your arms and the sweat dripping into your eyes.
Because it’s not even about the hanging—it’s about not falling.
And somewhere, somehow, something will shift. A branch, a foothold, a moment of relief.
And when it does, you’ll know this: you didn’t let go.
And honestly?
That’s everything.
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