Sometimes you fall. Sometimes you fall and get right back up. Sometimes you crawl for a ways before you find your feet again. Sometimes you just lay there for a bit.
Life can be like a brittle brown leaf, buffeted by a cold autumn wind, curled like a dessicated claw, desperately scrabbling for purchase on the slate grey sidewalk of a million empty city streets.
Life can be like that crumpled aluminum can, half-corroded and bent nearly beyond recognition, long since bereft of color, longer since drained of purpose. Sometimes you're the foot that kicks that can down the street. Sometimes you're the can.
Sometimes I'm both.
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