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R is for Runaway
When we can’t face our problems and fears, we runaway.
I look down at the bag, half full.
Those look like my clothes… Looking around a frightened room,
I see broken glass, emptied drawers, meaningless possessions left to die.
Then my eyes find a mirror. As I get closer, I see a girl.
She is bruised and crying. Clothes torn, body worn.
The body, now broken, shows an adolescent; the eyes deep and hollow,
shows a women who has aged.
A long forgotten soul.
With last minute items crawling in the bag, the zipper is shut.
The bag of belongings, carelessly tossed, now lies on the girls shoulder.
I see her now, crawling out a window; never looking back, fleeing.
There is nothing in the black of night, save for the girl and the house.
And between them, just distance.
With every step, her heartbeat slows, her tears dwindle.
And in the black of night, her bruises fade.