Under the cold moon, I march to my peace. So cluttered is the bricks aligning my life, so deafening the sounds of life, so pungent the small of the stale air surrounding me. As I walk forward into the moon, I leave it all behind.
Looming over me, dark and twisting against the sky, my elder gazes down at me with an eyeless look. My hands grasp upon her textured abrasive flesh. Knots seeming made into her to help pull me into her embrace. I slip, my tender soft skin gouging against her rough rippling skin. Despite the burning against my palms and knees, eventually I pull myself up into just two of her stiff arms. I sit still, steady, but I never feel truly supported. The comfort of familiar chaos far below my feet tingles and aches. I long for familiarity but the pain and fear burns all around me. Swallowing me whole till I feel that I am suffocating until I am a ghost of my former self, moving without thought in my mind, into the sharp cold air. Anything. Anything at all to feel something other than the burning.
I look into the frozen moon as my elder holding on to me, slowly she closes around me.