Threshold

She stood outside the door watching

Friends she’d walked away from

People she loved and missed

In a setting she’d once found grounding.

They knew

That her world had been rent asunder

The pieces scattered,

Sucked into the gravitational pull

Of loss, grief, uncertainty.

She was–adrift, needing

what she thought they might offer.

Yet she hesitated, bereft, afraid.

She could finish weaving the cocoon she’d started

Intended to protect herself from the world

While peeking out from within its stagnant confines

Giving herself the excuses of one day–

Or she could walk through that door.

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