Running.

Running.

Running.

Barefoot through the dew covered grass.

Running –

Until I’m breathless. . .

All a dream.

Often in my dreams. . .

I run free.

Long.

And return home. . .

Hot, tired, sweat-covered. . .

Happy.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Eyes open.

I sit.

S L O W L Y .

Both hands on the bar.

Begin to pull up.

DON’T. LET. GO.

Whatever I do –

I CAN’T LET GO.

Amble slowly.

Moans.

Groans.

Occasional screams.

Knives. . .

Stabbing. . .

And. . . SMASHING. . . waves of pain.

Sudden streams down my face now.

Make it to the halfway point.

10 feet perhaps?

Do all the things. . .

S L O W L Y. . .

And begin my return.

More of the same awaits me. . .

Agony.

Tears.

Hold on, tight. . .

Finally get the wounded appendage back to its perch.

And, slow and easy, my body follows.

A scream from some unknown depth with the searing pain that has set in, uninvited. . .

More streams down my face – and, suddenly, the guttural sobs.

Hands up to hide the tears, though I’m alone in the room.

Deep inhales, over and over and over again.

“This too shall pass.”

When, I’d like to know?

At best expensive white coat guess, it’s six months and two operating rooms.

A thousand sticks.

Ten thousand tears.

217 Days

To

Healing?

Oh, Dear God, I pray.

Help.

Just help.