That vague feeling, not real, but remembering what the separation felt like. The hiss and sigh of relief to know it was controlled, not a random force dragging you to the pit, you were choosing to go. Isn’t that better? To know when you want you can also choose to leave, but when their nails hook into the fattiness of your calf what was left but the anchor of remembering? Let it fill your lungs, the disappointment, like a bleach soaked rag, erasing the color, but not the trail. The throbbing reminds you, you’re alive, the heart strum more a dream than reality. What would it matter, you’re remembering.