Well

Emerging from the depths of disease is a strange process, familiar and foreign each time, strange but common. There's a tentative flame at first, flickering at every gust, it tries to send little sparks and see what may catch in your chest. You stretch careful offerings to it, kindling dipped in only the slightest whiff of hope but daren't look directly at the light lest it extinguish. 

Then suddenly you feel skin under your fingertips, like discovering there was a body to you all along. There's a smile that doesn't require all your focus to appear, a run along the river that doesn't threaten to bury you at every step. You feel something that seems almost like peace, because you daren't call it joy. At every turn you expect it to disappear again, but you add one pebble of good onto another until at last it feels like a leg to stand on. 

You are still deep in the woods. 

But now there is a path through it.