I'd been staying in bed for weeks. I didn't want to get up, I was scared to even move. The wound was still fresh, and I feared I'd start bleeding again and feel the pain.
I stared at the ceiling for days, watching the shadow cast by the light fixture change length and direction, in sync with the shift in colors splashed across the bare walls, with the passing of time.
Within days, I could predict the sequence of a day's kaleidoscope patterns. Their colors failing to dispel the pervading grayness. I felt trapped. In this room. In this body that just wouldnt't heal.
Even with the lines, corners and shadows, the world seemed to have lost its depth. Its days drawn in linear dimension. Now a daily morning routine, I reached for the small spot of sunshine beside my pillow. The light held my hand, and I felt the warmth that waited patiently for me outside.
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