I’ve been in freeze-mode so long the air forgot my breath. I feel bed-rotten like maggots poking through the soft meat of brain cells that once knew how to bloom. A corpse preserved too well gray beneath pale light, then green, then something nameless. Still, untouched by seasons. Time keeps moving outside my window, but I’ve been stuck here, wrapped in the same sheets, watching everything happen without me. But even dying souls know what it is to wake when the right storm comes to stir the dirt. And maybe, just maybe, this stillness was never death. Maybe, it was the seed before the bloom.
This is excellent
Thank you!