i’ve been shivering in bed for a few days now. i have a terrible fever and a stuffy nose and my eyes are melting into my skull.
remember the old poems i used to write? about Angels visiting me and leaving my skin warm. my skin is warm now, from a fever. burning from the inside out. if the burning is all mine, maybe i am the Angelic one now. like an old drawing in an old diary. old old old versions of me (the dead stars in the sky and Repin’s summer landscape).
things are a bit hazy when i’m ill. i’m not sick often but it sort of makes me feel lopsided. i lose hours and hours in bed listening to soft music and staring out my window, chatting to the tree across the street. today, she told me she thinks it’s okay if i change my hair again, even this soon. she told me it’s okay the blue didn’t work out how i thought it would.
i’m only half here. that’s the way i like it. lost somewhere between dust and Time, kind of a translucent apparition. my stomach has been terribly sore but only the clouds know. i couldn’t bring myself to shut the blind on my skylight - what is suffering without the sky to witness it?
i’m nauseous. in a really kind, empathetic way, i’m nauseous. i missed all these old songs. i missed these feelings. maybe i just needed to cough and splutter out the sadness and guilt to be okay. a couple of days frail and wheezing and i’ll come out on the other side like sunshine.
days like these make me miss winter so dearly so so so so dearly i cannot even explain. my tummy aches so much but i opened my windows and turned a fan on to help my fever and somehow i am aching for december. my 18th birthday will tumble into shivery november and i’ll sit alone in the snow and wonder over how lucky i am for a fresh start.
i am so loved by every star in the sky. i am so forgiven. i am so strong. and i am also so ill.
i will top up my vicks vapo rub and nap some more. sleep heals.
p.s. my mama tells me fond stories of the delirium i had as a child with my fevers. i feel the same now. a little bit loopy, laughing too hard at jokes that weren't meant to be jokes. must i be ill to bring such joy? a stuffy nose for an undeserved laugh. what a trade.
nothing matters until you will it to. how lucky i am to be sick. how lucky i am to be real.
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