• Vol. 03
  • Chapter 09
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You move forward, further than usual.
The membrane pulls taught.
The part that acts as the face you present
Thins, becomes translucent, pores enlarge.
And the birth of the you is a present possibility.
But the membrane is held by dark, rusty hooks,
Above you, below you, to the sides,
And always behind you.
Anchored to the things that weren’t said, weren’t done,
And things that were said, were done.
It isn’t indestructible.
You could, with a push, break through.
But what about the tatters you would leave behind?
And the ones who made the hooks?
Wouldn’t you feel disloyal? Don’t you
Owe them something for sticking with you this long,
Even though many of them are dead?
You’re too nice to do that – as they taught you to be.
So, you ease back and the membrane
Warms around you again.
Still … you look beyond.
Out there is you.
But right here has become home.