Of All The Stories I've Written, I Share With You, Stranger, These Few

Years

Months,
I had spent months
staring at those walls of recovery.
Just staring at them,
as if doing so
would magically propel me out of this pit.

Weeks,
I had spent weeks
clawing at the stone,
blistering my hand,
bloodying my nails,
tearing my throat
as I screamed for help.
But all I heard
was my plea echoing back to me.

Days,
I had spent days on this wall,
watching as my home of familiar despair
grew further away.
But I had lived my whole life in that same home,
and it was time to grow brave and climb out.

Hours,
I had spent hours
shaking in fear,
as I stared at the light
from the other side.
I was so close.
And yet so,
so very far.

Minutes,
I was minutes away from freedom.
From escaping the nightmare.

Seconds,
I was seconds out of the pit,
I had climbed out at long last.

Years,
I have spent years in a city of people
with smiles on their faces,
laughter on their lips,
happiness in their lives.

I feel at home with these people.