There was blood everywhere. The sight of it was gruesome, the smell of it invaded my every cell. I heaved, and there was all of me splashing in front of you.

You wiped away my tears, silenced the blubbering, the endless rope of words, the rope around my neck.

It might be another life, the doctors told us. With every death, there is a rebirth. There is a rebirth even when you think there shouldn’t be one. When you think there can’t be one, it steps in and says “I’m here.”

We packed my bag, rolled out of that green room, and went home that night. I don’t remember anything but wolves. There might have been black dogs, and not that I was ever scared of dogs, but that night I was. Shadows on the wall spoke to me, and there was one that mocked my existence. There’s still one here today – it follows me everywhere, but I am certain it’s not mine.

Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be that way. But then again, does it ever go as planned?

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