thoughts after the storm

She says, "I have a giant, gaping wound. You keep going in and twisting your hand around in it."

I am trapped. The way out is the way in. I am wholly encased in a sharp, brittle room. The walls draw in closer the more I think about it. Any attempts to leave draw me further in.

I trudge forward. Each day is further and further away from where I began but I wonder how close it is to where I want to be.