Second Chance
Focus
"You have to get back to her."
"You can't leave."
The voice resonates through the darkness. It is not my own.
Somehow I know, that it is the universe.
The universe is speaking to me.
"Go back."
"Focus."
_______________
I blink away the fog once more.
There's a woman before me.
I vaguely remember her from the hospital room.
Holding on to that memory is a struggle.
Mental processing in general is a struggle.
I try not to think.
I simply take in the woman before me.
Ellen.
Attaching this name to her takes no thought. It comes naturally.
She is lying in bed. Her hand on her stomach. Her dark hair looks as if it hasn't seen a brush in years. She is in an over-sized grey t-shirt, with tattered pajama pants that are tied tightly at her hips, as they too are entirely too big for her small frame.
She is a mess, but still a certain beauty exudes from her.
I feel a longing deep within me. It's struggling to surface. I want it to, but I cannot reach it.
I want to look around, to view my surroundings. I want to go lie next to her, this woman I do not know, but that I know, all at the same time. I want to brush her hair back from her face. I want to bury my face into her, feeling the warmth of that grey shirt against my face.
But I can't. For I have no eyes to see with. I have no body to lie down with. I have no hands to brush her hair with. I have no face to feel her warmth with.
I am simply here.
Until I begin to fade.
"You can't leave."
The voice resonates through the darkness. It is not my own.
Somehow I know, that it is the universe.
The universe is speaking to me.
"Go back."
"Focus."
_______________
I blink away the fog once more.
There's a woman before me.
I vaguely remember her from the hospital room.
Holding on to that memory is a struggle.
Mental processing in general is a struggle.
I try not to think.
I simply take in the woman before me.
Ellen.
Attaching this name to her takes no thought. It comes naturally.
She is lying in bed. Her hand on her stomach. Her dark hair looks as if it hasn't seen a brush in years. She is in an over-sized grey t-shirt, with tattered pajama pants that are tied tightly at her hips, as they too are entirely too big for her small frame.
She is a mess, but still a certain beauty exudes from her.
I feel a longing deep within me. It's struggling to surface. I want it to, but I cannot reach it.
I want to look around, to view my surroundings. I want to go lie next to her, this woman I do not know, but that I know, all at the same time. I want to brush her hair back from her face. I want to bury my face into her, feeling the warmth of that grey shirt against my face.
But I can't. For I have no eyes to see with. I have no body to lie down with. I have no hands to brush her hair with. I have no face to feel her warmth with.
I am simply here.
Until I begin to fade.