Four inches. It’s the difference between being able to reach the smoke detector to change the battery from the collapsable stool. Or the dishes drying on the top most rack at work.
Can four inches be the difference between a beautiful walk and tragedy? Four inches is the height of a curb. In time, four inches may be the reaction needed to obey a stop sign.
I will do my best to dwell in a place of gratitude. I can ask and gain help reaching those things lost to me. Be it solace or the griddle.
I struggle with navigating this time with others. Others may always be my four inches. I hope you can love me anyway.