Wet hair, dry lips and bare face
She starts to walk down the dirt path.
With blank face, her mind wanders
What if this never ends?
Like a vicious cycle in an endless nightmare.
Arms full, hands heavy with brown bags
She types, letting the words take her.
With envy and heartache diluting her cup
She embraces the cold winds.
Whispering echoes of forgotten woes.
As she leaves for another day
Her knees unprotected, she gives in
To the feeling of drowning.
She asks herself, why did she not learn how to swim?
– Lala B.