men without faces dragging me away from you as i screamed and reached out for you.
it was in that sepia black and white, and my hair was long and dark and i was wearing a long creme colored dress with a ruffle that came just above my ankles, like a dressing gown or a sun dress. the picture was gritty. you had been shot, were incapacitated and cornered in a room with wood floors and wooden walls. you were barely conscious, and men were closing around you and i knew they intended to hurt you. badly. i tore lose just long enough to almost reach you, but one of them hit me, hard, connecting with my ear, and i was knocked back away from you, but I tore back up, unphased, screaming and tearing across the floor on my hands and knees to reach you. the men descended upon me, it took so many men, drug me back across the floor with my heels digging into the wood, my feet bleeding and splintering as i thrashed wildly, crazed, in some desperate frenzy, spilling tears of rage. and you tried to stand, to come after me, bleeding from your stomach, but there were too many of them. they tore us apart. but we never stopped fighting.
death couldn't tear me from you.
i would tear loose its grasp and come back to you.
