“Why are you still here?”
Is the question she asked me the first time we met.
I was not fazed.
I was not hurt.
I felt nothing.
It is a question I ask myself at times.
I answered with a dry voice in a body that was so quite
It felt like I may be stone.
A stillness so fragile the slightest wind could shatter it.
“For years I’ve crept along life aimlessly,
A ghost with no voice.
Staring at the EXIT sign that follows me everywhere.
I want to go through
And yet my body is too stiff to move….  
I’m holding out on the idea that I may be wrong about the world.
About me.
As I so often am.”
And in the hollowness that poisons me,
I found a shimmer of hope that still resides in me.
A hope that I just may be wrong.