There’s a giant clearing about a 1 hour walk from the lighthouse. I don’t like walking that far out. A faint memory of something terrible happening there begs to be let into the forefront of my mind, but I don’t let it. Can’t.

Still, I walk. A masochistic urge to push my body to its limits. I walk as my heart rate slowly spikes, as my breath turns into heaving gasps.

When all is said and done, no matter how much I want to keep it all out, the body keeps score.

I shouldturn back.I should go.

Back to where it’s safe. Back to where I’m in control.

That’s what I like to think anyway.

I’ve gotten better. At pretending.