literature

on being sick

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mackwrites's avatar
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Literature Text

It was at a time when I was sick. I had the garden variety common cold, obtuse and yet, ceaselessly tiring, but I also had music. It was a song I had just discovered, and lying there on my carpet, staring at the stars on my ceiling, I let my headphones cradle my ears and let the music pierce my cold. I floated with it, leaving the symptoms behind. It was ethereal and surreal, yet it grounded me, and meant so much.

We drive south through Indiana, and into Kentucky, and the music comes with me. Together we move through forests and across fields. I think about water and the sky, about opposites, and concrete and abstract things. A pair of birds dance in the air and land, side by side, on a wire.

Another time when I was sick I remember making spaghetti. It was probably January. Maybe February. It was winter, not the part of impatient winter, when spring is in the corner of your eye whenever you look out the window (but you can't focus on it), but not the heart of it either. It was the cheerful, bright part of winter, and I remember boiling noodles and watching the steam rise into the air.
just some things.
© 2010 - 2024 mackwrites
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TwistedAlyx's avatar
when spring is in the corner of your eye whenever you look out the window (but you can't focus on it)