Sunday, October 26, 2025
I sit here, the only movement the rise and fall of my torso as a machine pumps oxygen into my lungs every four seconds.
My body burns. It radiates with pain, from sole to scalp. How do I not light up this darkened room?
Not the white-blue of metal being shaped into something new.
But the golden-red of embers in a fireplace, glowing until there is nothing left.
Idle Chatter:
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