In the Kitchen

I lay my head
on the counter
shielding my face
with the corner
of my arm.
This sweater is soft
and warm,
the darkness,
welcoming.
My body is weak…
tired.
Random images flicker
in the back
of my brain,
drilling deeper
and deeper,
into the past.
Lifting my head,
the invasive kitchen light
carries me back
to the paper.
I wonder where I can hide
from myself.