There were times when I had almost given in to the weariness that came from fighting the long and harsh battle that was known to me as life; I was ready to let Death lift me up and carry me away.
And then you showed up, this human who bore wounds bloodier than mine. You helped me get back up on my feet. You did not look away, not for even a brief moment; instead you remained.
You then helped me to pull out all the arrows that had punctured the vulnerable regions of my battle worn body and taught me look at them differently. In time you helped me learn to not throw away all of them out of sheer frustration, to replenish my arsenal with some and to use others in different ways on my journey.
Even though you were battered and bruised yourself, you patiently pulled out the pieces of my armour that had been bent and twisted out of shape and were doing a better job of harming me than shielding me, and you waited, and you did not take a step to leave until I had fashioned a makeshift weapon from all of the debris.
I know that I was blessed for having had you.