• My face is wet.
    With sweat, or tears?
    I think for a moment before finding the answer.
    Both.
    I sit up. I am covered in sand.
    My eyes rake the horizon,
    But I see only more sand.
    I ran far from home.
    But was I running from home?
    Or was I running from him?
    No. I was running from life without him.
    Not a most brilliant idea.
    Because here I am, without him.
    And here I will always be,
    Without him.
    Because he doesn’t want me.

    There is new wetness on my face,
    And I collapse back into the sand.