SAFETY IS AN OBSERVATION
I want a sandwich. I want ice-cream. I want to eat with love. With people I love.
I want a sandwich. I want ice-cream. I want to eat with love. With people I love.
An object in time travels if and only if the difference between its departure and arrival times, as measured in the surrounding world, does not equal the duration of the journey it undergoes. In this place, the soft grey shawl and my knitting project are on my Anthropologie quilted bed.
As is common with lengthy hospital stays, I was attached to the bed through my hardworking IV pole. And a built-in bed alarm. Then, on my last couple of days, I was released from the alarm. YAY! I was able to, with IV pole in tow, go the bathroom all by myself.
Things, like time, are war. Games. War games. Time—is of the essence. Life, too, is also of the essence. I grasp the heavy rifle in my hands. I blast the abyss with bullets of memories, leaving sparkling lights that, slow, dim into the darkness.