Chapter Forty-three: Holding on Tight.

I felt beneath my fingertips

A solid wall of glass

The faint outline of a faraway door

Yea, the lock was fast.

I sat amidst the whispering blooms

An interloper in their midst

The warmth they held against their wombs

I.. was not part of that bliss.

The sun that walked with us part way

It fell not on my face

But cast me in such shadowy gray; 

I was far from grace.

Give me strength to battle despair

I have not fallen to thee

But I, in loneliness, I write to me

And such, my heart repair.