He struck.
A blowā
not with fists,
but with force that knew my name.
Tears rose,
not from sorrow,
but from shock.
Salt blurred my sight.
I closed my eyes
to survive.
Stillā
he came.
Slaps.
Blows.
A storm with no face.
He twisted my hair
like he owned my roots.
Lifted me
as if to unmake me.
Tried to strip me bareā
but I clung
to cloth,
to dignity,
to skin.
He tossed me
like debris in wind.
I clung to a poleā
not for safety,
but for self.
I could not see him
through the flood in my eyes.
But I felt him.
Presence.
Pressure.
A shadow breathing violence.
So I screamed:
āCome out, coward.
Show your face.
Letās end thisā
once and for all.ā
But he vanished.
No echo.
No apology.
Just absence.
It was windy this morning.
I should have stayed inside.
The windā
it gave me
a heavy blow
in the face.
