I wrote it four years ago, posted it a couple of years ago. I'm posting it again because I'm too tired to write anything else. I hate this day.
There were shoes everywhere
High-heels, clunky sandals, oxfords
Scattered among the briefcases, purses, gym bags
Anything that slowed us down
We ran in stocking feet
Through glass and metal, mud and ash
Not feeling the cuts
Not noticing the blood
How could we?
When all around was fire and smoke
Paper like rain, bodies like hail
The screams, the anguish, the chaos
What was our pain compared to that?
Only later, alone at home, safe
Could we look at our feet and guiltily wonder
How could something that tears open your soul
Leave such little marks?