In more than one way, I deserve this. Hands tied. Held back. Mouth covered. I deserve this. I am downhill looking up at the woman I thought I was. She’s standing above me, dark curls framing her face, covering her eyes. She was shouting to me to stand up, claw my way back up the dirt, join her once again. But she’s quiet now. She’s grown tired of yelling. She’s grown tired of hearing the same words come out of her mouth. She’s given up on reminding me of the woman I thought I was. She says nothing. I deserve this.