I walk through the long hallway,
And up the winding dusty stairs,
A sense of deja vu tingling my spine,
Yet something, someone, draws me onward.
I get to the top and see many doors,
But I know which one to enter.
I push the door open gently,
Trying not to make a creak
Yet the sound cries out,
A figure in the dark jerks in response.
I see her small frame,
She\'s sitting on a bed in the back of the room,
Eyes downcast and back hunched over.
I walk slowly toward her and sit on the bed.
She looks up and studies me for a few seconds,
In awe, or shock, a sense of surprise.
\"We\'re still alive?\" She asks, voice horse from crying.
I know such a young child, probably only nine
Shouldn\'t have these kinds of thoughts but
I reach for her hand.
\"Yes,\" I reply, not knowing if I should add more.
She sniffs, hope or despair I cannot tell.
\"Does it go away?\" She asked, tears brimming her eyes.
\"No. But it hurts less than it used to. It becomes bearable to live again.\"
I pulled her into my arms.
She was still me, but she had passed.