oh god, i can imagine her fear. and now she's all alone in that small square room on the third floor. she doesn't even know what room number because when you're lying on a gourney being transported from one place to another, all ceilings looks the same. my happiness mirrored hers, and we started ignoring the reasons we were mad. our home was clean, and new paint felt like optimism, but her excitement went crashing through a windshield somewhere in queens. now only morphine can keep her broken bones content. and now eveything is falling apart.
i love her, and she's alive.