I close my eyes. I tell myself I can panic for as long as the bell tolls. I can feel that fear, I can let myself fall until the silence tells me I’ve hit the bottom. So I do. For eleven more droning rings, I let myself be terrified. Angry. Selfish. I let it course through me like a poison, breathe in everything ugly and little and quivering. I am dying. I am not enough. I am a broken girl in a world that wants me in smaller pieces still.
