The Same Place

I stepped between the platform and the train.

Just for a second. Wasn't paying attention.

My ankle went down into the gap.

The platform's edge caught it.

I fell sideways. Caught myself on the railing.

My ankle twisted under me.

The pain came fast and specific.

I knew immediately it was real.

Now it's swollen. The bruise is forming.

Dark purple in the exact shape of my shoe's pressure.

I can see the shoe print on my own skin.

The laces marked in darker lines.

Underneath the bruise, I can see the scar.

Pale. Old. From the break in my twenties.

The same ankle. The same spot.

It's breaking again in the place it already broke.

I ice it. The cold makes the swelling worse before it gets better.

My body remembers this. It knows what to do.

It swells the same way. Protects the same way.

History repeating in the body.

I'm waiting for it to bounce back like it used to.

It won't. I know that now.

The body doesn't recover the same way twice.

Damage accumulates. Damage stays.