A visceral poem about isolation and the fragile line between feeling and nothing at all.

We once moved together like three points in orbit. Time shifted the gravity, distance grew, and I learned that love does not mean holding on.

I am learning the girl I once was. Her face, her hands, her voice appear in old photographs, in journals with ink bleeding like bruises. She startles me. Her mania hangs in the air like smoke; her suffering is sharp, unyielding. I read her pages and shiver at the clarity of her terror and courage.

Resilience. That’s the word that sticks with me tonight. We’re capable of so much more than we give ourselves credit for. I’ve always known that, but tonight, it feels real. It feels close.