The illness takes over my entire body, mauls my muscles and my senses, I am delirious. Yet others are added, my defeated immune system is helpless and stands aside, as I stare incredulously at my pale face and see only more disease, not less. I try to accept, to let the days pass in cold sweats and the inability to stand, but I miss the world, I miss my friends, I hit my head against the wall time and again, forcing sensibility. I sleep under extra layers, dreamless sleeps, expect every morning to be better but it refuses.
One night, flowers arrive on my doorstep, impossible rays of springtime whispering that Brooklyn has not forgotten me, that Brooklyn knows the vicious blade of winter, but that spring will come, as it always does. This, too, shall pass, and I cry with bleeding heart into the petals. This, too, shall pass. How ready I am, for just a little bit of sunshine.
And suddenly, if it doesn't appear on the horizon. A day so cold the ice particles glitter through the atmosphere, a sun so bright the snow on the rooftops hurts your eyes. The illness rages on, it refuses to let go but is it not slightly diminished after all? I write long letters and feel the embers of giggle, of madness, of adventure sprout in my belly. I know they are there, biding their time. I know there is more to life than these unanswered questions, than this terrified isolation, than this trembling body and estranged apathy. And after the darkness has passed, after the illness has left my body in ruins, how I am pure, how I am brand new, how I will Live.
It's almost here.
It's almost here.
Can you feel it?
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