MADISON

Shall I jump? Or climb down? Maybe dive instead or even just put my feet in?

Logically, I know there is no positive in returning to that place. I am familiar with the solitude, the melancholy, the silence. The cold. I remember what it was like in the prison made specifically for me.

I’ve experienced plenty of things that were the opposite of the hole. Light, love, community, warmth—things that I would never dream of giving up.

But I feel the pull in my abdomen and somehow it feels stronger than ever. Maybe it is because I’m older, with a much more solid reason to be there—to return to the familiar. I chose to ignore the string that connected me to that time in my life, but for some reason it has come back to snatch me away from the above.

It was just an empty black void before. But the more I near the edge, I realize there is something more sinister waiting for my arrival. And it wishes to remind me of everything I’ve done, said, desired; it wants to make me regret all of the above. It has shackles ready for my ankles and seems to have gotten a little deeper too.