She dreams of the places she would have loved to visit,
Sights she’s always wanted to see, feel, smell, experience.
She dreams of a carefree young adulthood where love and adventure were foremost in life.
She dreams of a life more lived than survived.
All the while there is a room within her,
The door firmly locked, curtains drawn,
It is dark, so dark you can barely see your hand in front of you.
And it heaves, seethes with anger, rage, grief and sadness.
All locked away for the weight of it would crush her to nothing.
Every time she’s told to be grateful for the things she has survived she is in part.
But a tiny wisp escapes through the keyhole of the room.
Washing over her in anger and rage turning to grief and sadness.
For a life full of adventure left unexplored,
For the promise of youth broken,
For the opportunities taken.
Mostly she dreams of pain and hospitals, of anxiety and loss, of claustrophobia and the dark.
But sometimes she dreams……