There she stood.
A version of herself,
emotionally kneeling (as if to beg).
Still mourning the loss
of this old photocopy, this old comfort.
Someone hardly recognizable now,
but that’s what made it so hard.
Her death lie through the only doors
she knew she had to cross.
Still pleading for a way to get back
the good daughter, friend, student.
Wondering if the journey
might be worth the risk.
But knowing for certain that joy is only offered
to those willing to walk through the gates of hell.

And so she took a step.