EXT. A WOOD - DAY
Light comes through the trees, leaves drop. Peaceful, with only the sounds of birds. A JOGGER beats past, their footfalls heavy and their breathing ragged.
What no one tells you about loss is how exhausting it is. Maybe they do tell you, actually. But who listens, right?
[The jogger is struggling, their face is red and eyes wild.]
So, when it happens, it is a shock. How tired you are. How exhausted. You find yourself stopping yourself telling other people how tired you are, approximately 15 times a day. But you still tell people anyway. "I'm tired."
[Ahead of the jogger, the woods are petering out and there is a main road ahead. The jogger gets to the road and turns right, running along the side.]
I am tired... And you think. I cannot make it. I cannot do this. I cannot keep going. I cannot do this.
[A car approaches, the jogger moves over but keeps going. They are struggling. Their face is almost purple. Their breathing is increasingly ragged and wheezy.]
But it isn't a sprint. Loss. You don't just "get through" it and it's over. It a marathon. It is long haul.
[The jogger looks at their watch and drops to walking pace. They walk, glancing at their watch.]
So, you do what you can. You do anything you can, just to keep going. Just to keep putting one foot in front of another. You take regular walk breaks. Just to keep going.
[The jogger's breathing is stablising. Their face is less puce. They look at their watch.]
You keep putting one foot in front of another.
[They start to run again. Their running is more even. They start to accelerate, their face relaxes. Real flow.]
And yes. I am tired.
[They are running almost at a sprint along the road.]
And yes. I want to stop. And yes... I am not sure I can go on.
[They look at their watch and drop to walking pace. They walk along the road, bending at the waist. ]
But it also turns out. I am strong. And I keep putting one foot in front of the other.
[Close up of their feet as they walk.]