November 20th

Sweet,

I came back home. In my flat empty of your presence. It’s cold and neat, impersonal and anonymous. I was looking forward to my rooms and furniture, my things, my books, my music. I tried to spend a usual evening. My parents took care of me like a disabled one. Fridge and medicine chest are full, I could live here for weeks without going out.

I went for a walk in the neighborhood, a little and careful walk. The housekeeper is still unpleasant and she doesn’t answer when I say hello. I could at least get some fresh air though I don’t go for a long walk. The physiotherapist says it could be good for me to exercise, if I’m not tired. If you just see the athlete! By few yards, I’m exhausted, short breath and weak legs. It will be okay, I just have to be patient, Which I am not.

Sweet, this silent flat is a grave without you. I hoped for news during the weeks at the hospital, during the rehabilitation. Your silence is like depths where I am leaning. I wish I could share with you every good news, every limb bending, every ache disappearing. I thought of you, I planned our sweet reunion each painful step of my stay at the hospital, of my rehabilitation. I’m still improving, I’m still rising to the challenge, but I’ll be whole and complete, renewed, for you.

Sweet, I do not remember anything before the very moment when I opened my eyes at the hospital. I did not feelyour presence by me, and I would give everything I have for a bit of that memory. Sweet, come back and tell me your vigil, give me back all these days I lost. Tell me what I missed.

Samuel