Her chest becomes heavy,
the breaths are short,
and her face is red.
The walls inch closer,
the voices of others are muffled;
the whisper in her head cannot get louder.
No matter how hard her voice
pushes and scratches through her airway,
nothing comes out.
In the early morning hours
she wishes herself nonexistent,
she wishes to be out of the in-between,
She wishes for a way out.
She wishes for opportunities.
She wishes and she wishes.
She asks questions.
They tell her:
“It’s not a big deal.”
“Things will get back to normal.”
“Don’t let it get to you.”
“It just takes time.”
She wants to believe them, but she can’t.
The world keeps getting grayer.
Even she doesn’t know why.