The apple's juices opened up inside my mouth, mixing with my tears. Three a.m. is rarely kind to me. It's when thoughts rise from the deepest sleep and toss the heart into a spin. Somehow the sweetness reminds me of life's innocence. I haven't written in a while. Perhaps an experiment with denial. But like any river, once dammed,a pressure builds, and the release can leave one startled in its wake. I woke to the book on tape still murmuring in my earbud. The rhythmic breath of my husband. The gentle nudge of Reggie's paw stretching into my thigh. The burn inside my spine from my trying too hard to be free. I'm learning, and adapting, to life in a chair. But sometimes when lost in a whirlwind of growth, life becomes blurred and feelings are forced beneath the skin. Until three a.m.It just hit me, that only months ago I could shuffle my feet to cross a room. Now my body caves likes a tree that's broken in a wind, my chest edging to the floor as my spine collapses in its fold. My face is to the floor within seconds of searching for hope, that maybe this will be the step when life will turn. So now my life is from the chair. Albeit it is a pretty cool looking little chair. A woman at the doctor's office told me so, but in a way that was all too real. As though now it was a part of me. Like a dress, or pair of shoes. The color of my hair. I am now also my chair.  My husband released his hold on me, he's learned to wait each storm - quietly bracing me to his chest until the calm.  When the storm slows down and branches are cradled by the wind. In the stillness once again, at three a.m.