a hospital stay. The belly stretched yet, it pulls and tweaks. It is still wound exudate into the attached bag. The time is running thick with. At the hospital, the time stuck to the walls . hour is at most two BWA long. The prospect of improvement is ever the same, with promise early Dismissal.
The day starts early, but quickly. Like ants running the nurses through the rooms, do their things and mistreat their patients a little, because of recovery, applied to the well-being somewhat strict. Rests, but no peace. The other day, new activity. With each sip of water, take a step gene also home. Drink, drink a lot, at least two liters a day.
loosens the bedside, the bond to the world, without any news from outside the insight fades into the action of locating the self in the here and now. As the holiday where the news is low, the lack of information leads to drive in an undefined time, without swimming shore view. The sick-bed as a refuge from everyday life, an island of isolation time to think, time to pivot in memories and daydreams.
It looks out to the horizon, the sky ceiling is above the roofs of wood. Everyday hustle and bustle below and above the circling ravens. Spring creeps up to the seventh floor, leaves open their limbs. The body rests in a quiet altitude, only the construction work disturbing the convalescence. But you get used to it - then it feels like home.
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