She wanders alone and lost. The rage gone from her.
The pain a memory leaving in it’s wake a nothingness.
She is exhausted and hurting at the core. Her hands and knees bloody from the struggle. She should have known well enough that passivity would cause less pain, less sorrow.
Why must she always fight so hard? Why instead can she not acquiesce, accept, accede.
She aches, cold and lonely.
She struggles to find her way, struggles with the want to simply sit
and let the nothingness carry her away.
Her stubborn will pushes her on, forward to find the light, find the warmth,
find the love, find her way home.