Weak

Beating

My sneakers crunch against the sidewalk.  His back is to me and my heart launches into my throat when I see him.  He doesn't know me yet, not like he will.  I hold my breath as I run past, pretending it's not ripping its way from my lungs.  He must never know I'm weak.

And then I truly am weak and he is the one who knows it best.  Until everyone knows.

Breathing

In the dim glow my little one stirs next to me  Flat nose, pink lips, gold eyes.  He is the reflection of someone I cannot have and no longer want.   This life is a ruin I must wrench myself from and then build again with bloodied hands.  I will not dial the phone again only to reach the machine--his filter.  He must never remember I'm weak.

This life is not all about him, a person I barely knew even then.  He was a plot twist, a literary device.  But I am the protagonist of this story, the heroine.

The damsel in distress has left the building.

I will never be weak again.