Not really sure where this is going to go, but the words just started flowing.... the last time this happened I wrote the first 10 pages of 'First Wife' (for which I have not finished and it still remains sitting in a file on my desk)
It’s not enough... the white walls that smell like camphor, the drone of the machines around me, the sweet swoosh of air that goes in and out.... the touch, the touch is what is like the sweetest elixir. The feel of skin on mine, the warm brush of the nurse’s arm as she straightens my blankets and checks the numerous colored cables that keep me alive. The world around me is a parade of white and teal, hands and machines. Faces are blurry at best, and few and far between as I lapse in and out of my two different nightmares. Thankfully, I feel no physical pain.... it is the emotional pain that continuously racks twists my soul.
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