Sweet,
I
am finishing both my thesis and my quest back to normal life, to noncrippled
people.
Evenings
are long loneliness without you. I don’t understand, My Sweet, I don’t
understand your desertion. You, who watched me over for so many nights, why did
you disappear when I felt better?
Didn’t
you want to recognize me, in this piece of suffering flesh, but newly conscious?
Did
you run away from my condition? I understand that you didn’t want to face my
long way back, treatments and rehabilitation. But I feel better today, and I
find myself back.
My
Sweet, you can come back, it’s time now. I am complete enough, firm enough,
recovered enough, so, spring back beside me. I am wandering like a split soul,
even socially, even with others, even among my friends. I miss a storm, a
rebellion, you, my sweet.
My
Sweet, you must come back. You must give me back all these long hours you’ve
spent watching me over. You must confide in me your expectations, and the sound
of the machines which have monitored me, the thick silence of the night, the
agitation in the hospital, the quiver that told you I was regaining
consciousness.
My
Sweet, you finally disappeared when my eyes have opened, at the end of my coma.
I have forgotten, I have forgotten everything. You weren’t there anymore, your
sad smile had vanished. I would have like to feel your presence, I would have
liked to tell your
vigil brought me back to my mind, to you. I didn’t feel the pleasure of your permanent watch
over.
I
did not feel your hand on mine, I did not hear your quiet, worried breathe. I
wasn’t there when you were at my bedside. I did not feel the light of your hope
clinging to the rhythm of my heartbeat, of my breath.
Samuel.
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