When I can't breathe or uncurl,
I will know that I am back,
back on track.

When I can only feel sharp beneath seas of cloth and downy white hairs,
I will know that I am getting closer to the goal that I can never reach,
even though my friends won't want to hug me because it will be painful for both of us.
It will be worth it, even when I've lost everyone because I couldn't be there.
It will tell me everything is back,
back on track.

You call it plummeting,
failing,
relapsing,
but I call it finally getting back on track.