At my parents house for the day.
Taste discomfort of this and the burning need for more croissant. Smell flowers from behind me in a vase. Hear my brother munching on eggs bacon toast, and the cars passing over the hill, and the hum of the electricity through the lights tv fridge. Hear the man cleaning the steps. Feel the strangeness as I sit on this sofa, book in hand. Feel sore soles and delicate ribs, still. Feel the quiet. Feel the failed start of a sneeze as my body knows my ribs won’t take it. Feel the uncertainly of our future plans, my future.