Breaths

day 06

my hospital sheets were yellow today.
i realised these were the ones from my bed back home.
the room also smelled of fresh flowers and waffles.
and i looked at the bedside table, breakfast was a symphony
of a hearty meal that feels like a monday morning,
brought by the energy of the rush hour.
mom was making instant coffee,
dad was reading the paper.
sunlight was streaming through
the thin, white curtains.
CNN was chatting away the
usual tragedies and disasters,
as if these would run my happiness
out the window and down the
rabbit hole. and there's him.
he opened the door with a huge
smile pasted on his face, carrying
a guitar case in his left hand and
a single white daisy in his right.
denim jacket and skinny jeans,
jet black hair and usual grins.
but i forget where we were.
the walls are still immaculate,
my arms still snaked with thin tubes,
my vision still impaired with medicine
nothing really changed.
i'm still pale, getting thinner every day, frail even to speak whispers.
but still, he held my hand, the one
with the needle stuck in the middle of
the back of my right hand,
he interlaced his fingers with mine.
i realised then, home.