She’s spent her entire life running,
from something that’s bigger than she,
and with every passing empty glass
she burrows herself a little deeper.

Now talking aloud to no one at all,
counting the seconds moving forward,
as she flips over the hourglass,
they slide back down in reverse.

With hope that she won’t be noticed
however, it is only a matter of time
before the wandering eye makes contact
and pulls her back into the fray.

A wall of protest before she finally acquiesces,
fading into the cacophony of sound and lights,
dancing like an electric eel through the coral,
along the ocean floor.

Floating high with shapeless cotton clouds,
a soft blanket wrapping up her fears,
but the inconvenience of gravity,
will pull her back to earth again.

She rises with the bloom of a young spring,
and fades in the blight of a cold winter,
running from those she’ll never see,
but feels them all around her.

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