bright frigid white blinding light slices through the

gap between the curtain and the

wall, with my blanket clinging itself to my bare skin, erasing the

harsh line between my body and the

world, my form being pulled down to the

ground, and i stay there for a while.

and i stay there for a while:

i dream of warm cups of soup and of the

the sun, of summer breeze, of the smell after rain, of

better days. i stop dreaming --

it’s so tiring. and the rain doesn’t stop anymore, and the

wind screeches past my window glass and falls onto

my leg, as i tuck the sob not under, but behind, my heart and

watch, through a frosted screen, all that

lives inside me not die, but slip away

but slip away:

i summon my last ounce of vigor to break away from the