t w e n t y - t w o

if life is pain then I buried mine

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I'm twenty-two when I open my eyes. The lock is gone. The door is open, but I'm still huddled inside, on the floor.

My legs work now. I can stand. I can walk. But I don't.

A woman sits in front of me, paper and pen in hand, watching me as she asks, "How do you feel?"

"I don't know."

I'm twenty-two and I don't know.