Sometimes it feels like riding a tsunami, feeling the wall of water bearing down on you, screaming of death. You're stuck in the middle, trying to crest, standing on a flimsy piece of wood called Hope. Your heart beats in your chest so loudly that you can barely hear the wall of water calling your name. Your hands are curled into fists and your muscles are tight and tense; you could be a flesh statue, if it weren't for that pulse beating beneath your skin in overdrive. And you know if you don't make it to the other side, to where the rage of the wave abates, you'll never see her smile again.
There's a determination which pulls at your chest, pushing your ribcage outward until it fills every cavity of your lungs. Even when they start to poke out of your skin, sharp and white and painful, you ignore them and keep going. Because in the end, you know the only thing worth suffering for is her.