I’ve nestled myself under the boughs of a tree,
each foot rooted in the dirt,
back resting gently on rough bark.

The sun is shining today,
warming my skin from an intense cold
that had penetrated through layers of
cloth-fear-grime-loneliness
to leave me heartbroken.

Right now,
the pain exists,
but I’m not trying to run from it.

Tomorrow, even 1 hour from now,
may be a different story,
but in this moment,
I’m sitting with the uncomfortableness.

My back is sore, eyes are puffy,
heart pumps out an unlikely rhythm,
but I feel the detachment.

It’s minor, so miniscule
that I have to focus to find it,
but it brings me solitude.

This line, the slightest degree of separation
between self and emotion,
reminds me that it is okay.

There is no running from pain.
It folds and unfolds,
hides and seeks.

My pain is akin to that of others.
I feel as they feel
across time and space,
outside human constructs.

I aim to turn my pain into compassion —
an acknowledgement of the past and future,
a placeholder for what comes next.