Image of an old sailing ship at sea waiting for the light to break through a heavily clouded sunrise.

Waiting For The Light

My husband tells me it’s light outside as he hands me a cup of tea. Gingerly, I begin to pull the debris of my being together in preparation for a post-surgical ophthalmology appointment, but it isn’t easy. Parts of my psyche are strewn like discarded clothes from a lovers tryst all over the artificially darkened bedroom, and I’m struggling to collect them. My husband administers another round of post-operative eye drops. He carefully helps me into the shower and gently washes my hair, because I literally can’t figure out what steps are involved. How do I do this? I don’t even understand the question, if it is indeed a question. Maybe it’s more of a concept. Whatever it is, I cannot comprehend the unidentifiable, unnameable fragments of those somethings floating across the astronomy of my mind. It’s as if I’ve forgotten how to do anything, or worse, never known in the first place. Forgetting would simply mean there’s a polar opposite […]

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