freethepoet
Behind that door are people we haven't seen in months.
And then they're here and the room explodes into tears and hugs and such overwhelming happiness there is nothing left to call it but pure, unfettered joy.
"Miss, I think there's something under my bed," the little girl whispers, peering out from under her covers. "Nothing to worry about," the matron replies. "All the monsters here are too shy to come out."
We are all trapped, he thinks to himself, leaning against the stone marker. We're all trapped with no hope for survival. The thought chills him in the most comforting way, and he gives the headstone one last pat before pulling his coat even tighter.
There are too many things to thing about. What to wear? What to say? What to do? Who to befriend, who to ignore? The results of these decisions can make or break us. And that, my friends, is why I decided to leave.
There's music playing off in the distance. She doesn't know where it's coming from, but it's there, making her remember things she'd rather not. Summer days, warm gold spreading over her shoulders, keeping her safe until dusk.