She always ends up here.
She always ends up in the dark, where the ground is barely lit by the few lampposts strategically arranged throughout the park. She never knows how she gets here. One moment, she could be experiencing joy and allégresse, transported into a magical world where she is convinced is now hers and the next minute her world collapses.
The ground calls her body, the weight of her tears contribute to her downward spiral. Time has stopped. Life has paused. Her existence hangs by a thread. Panicked, she looks around her to grab a hand, someone to talk to. There is no one. “Don’t let me fall please, I don’t know how to stop from falling”.
A million questions goes through her mind. Will she survive or is this it?
Eventually she falls and lands hard on a bed of rocks, her heart ripped into pieces, her eyes wet. When she finally is able to stand back up and regain conscious, she realises where she is. Back to where it all started, in the familiar sombre alleys of her soul. She can never understand how she transitions from feeling so much joy to diving so abruptly in her sadness.
If everything hurts now, she knows that she will eventually walk against the dark and make her way back up into the light. She knows she will feel whole, until she falls back again.