Giant steps.

He doesn't know it, but he's not so big. He tries to be. Big, I mean. He tries.

To be big. To be strong. To be unbreakable. He's not unbreakable. He's not even that big.

All my life, he's tried to be big. He's tried to get bigger, stronger, tougher, scarier, more fearless. He got there.

Now, he is so afraid of not being what he's worked so hard to be... that he's not. He's afraid, and that makes him small. He's concerned, and that makes him nervous. His nerves make him vulnerable. He's far too afraid to be vulnerable.

That side of him just isn't there yet. The side of him that takes the hit when no one cares how big he is. The side of him that breaks when he feels like he can't get any bigger. The side that wakes in a cold sweat after the dream about being small. That side of him is weak. Frail. Afraid.

There is a mouse in this Giant. There is a boy wearing the crown in that kingdom. There is a traitor in his army of one.

It's him. He's so obviously afraid of only himself. And of how small only he really knows he is. Still he tries. But I know, too.

There is a part of me that sees him as me. There is a part of me that wants him to be stronger. To be unbreakable. To arrive at the invisible place he's been going to forever. To be big. Part of me wants to be big like him. But the other part knows better. The other part knows that I can be. And that scares us both.

It scares him to think that he can work his whole life to become something that I could be in a year, if I wanted to. And I'm not that big. I'm just... not him.

The other part, though. The other part of me knows that if I did, I'd be just as scared as him. The other part of me knows that if I was ever as strong, as fearless, as unbreakable as him, that we'd both crumble.

I'd lose knowing that there's always someone out there bigger than me. He'd lose everything. He'd suddenly be small. Not to anyone else. Just me.

The one who needs him.
To Be.
Big.