I opened my eyes but the water made everything blurry. Sort of like my life. Chest burning I knew I would have to come up
for air soon. It could never be that
easy, to just relax and take a breath, make it all go away.
The banging was muffled by the water. I heard it anyway. My mom was checking on me. The water melted away as I sat up in the bath
tub. IF I didn’t answer soon enough, she
would bare in. I couldn’t bring myself
to blame her. She just wanted to see me
still alive, to see my wounds were healing.
She wanted to know on the outside I was getting better so she could
pretend inside I was getting better too.
“I’m fine mom.” My
voice was still hoarse, but firm enough she didn’t insist on coming in. I don’t think I have any modesty left, aft
the time I spend in the hospital. I
think I’m just cruel enough not to let her pretend I’m “all better.”
I probably should have let her in.
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