You know just what it's like to fight for every movement. Everything needs to be custom, everything needs to be effort. Everything from chairs to stairs are the enemy, designed to emphasize just how much harder it is for you compared to everything else. Sometimes you want to be whole again so bad that screaming will never be enough. You ache not for home or hearth or love, but freedom of movement. You wish you could do everything without thinking, without feeling, but you can't and you know without the doctors having to say a word that you never will again. You miss the guys back home, the warmth of beach weather, the music that you still feel in bones that are in cracked pieces under your skin. You don't want to do, not really. You want to be.