He struck—
a sudden blow across my face.
Tears surged,
blinding me with salt and silence.
I could not see,
but still he came—
slaps, fists,
a storm of violence.

He twisted my hair
like a rope of rage,
lifted me by strands
as if to unravel my being.
He clawed at my clothes,
but I clung to fabric
as if it were skin.
He hurled me,
a ragdoll in the wind—
I clung to a pole,
fought with every trembling thread of strength.

I could not see him
through the flood in my eyes,
but I felt him—
a shadow pressed against my breath.

“Come out, coward,” I cried.
“Show your face.
Let us end this—
once and for all.”

But he vanished,
as swiftly as he came.
No footsteps,
no echo.
Only absence.

It was a morning of wind—
I should have stayed inside.
The gusts struck me
like grief with fists.
The wind—
it gave me
a heavy blow
in the face.