Hannah

All the things you’ve said
The bad ones, the hurtful ones,
The forceful ones, the pleading ones
Would soon not matter
Would soon turn to nothing but dust
scattered in the wind
With no one to remember them
But yourself
As you beheld her broken body
Lifeless
In the sea of her blood
As she drowned
In her grief and sorrow.
And then I think of what it must have felt like
If it’s freedom from them
And a prison for her
Or if it was the other way around.
I think of what they might feel
Would they feel anger and regret and sadness and longing
If I do the same thing.