Sometimes it’s about being left behind, by a bus that leaves for a field trip, or by the only plane that can take you home.
Sometimes it’s a crowd in a football stadium, frowning and pointing at you as you stand naked on the field.
Sometimes it’s about an accident, driving blindly in the dark, and running over a woman crossing the street.
Sometimes it’s everybody recognizing your face, knowing you’re the person who ran over the war hero, and mother of six.
Sometimes it’s a family reunion, relatives asking if you’re proud of yourself, eyes filling every inch of your vision.
Sometimes it’s the immortal woman in red, chasing you with a sinister smile and a long knife in her hand.
Sometimes it’s just yourself, floating in a cold and empty ocean. Screaming with no voice, breathing with no air.
You wake up at the ungodly hour, your stomach churning, your mind returning. It’s just another night. What a sad thing to get used to.
You try to go back to sleep, but you shuffle until the night is gone, and you wonder when you will ever feel safe again in the arms of a sweet surrender.