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.
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.