Blood and pain

I remember I awoke in exquisite pain. It was horrible. I peed in agony as great clots of blood exited the too narrow hole wrwcking me with pain. You showed little sympathy and yet each moth you’d laid in agony. You groaned despondent. I’d known it was a stone. you’d known it was a stone too. We’re we’re both wise to the viscistudes of the body. Yet I’d had more sympathy was you lay in agony day after day for the curse to pass. You called it that. A thing of biblical proportion. And I just stood in fear not knowing where or whence this pain and blood had come that must exit my body through the tiniest of holes, clots colliding with each other pushing shoulder to shoulder to escape. Yet you go on month to month fully aware you might suffer as I now suffered waiting the dawn.

Will souls collide against one another escaping this life through some small hole racing towards the light in deaths exquisite pain. Glad Gethesame. There is such relief in sleep despite the horrors of the night. These still passages where we remember snippets and cling to sanity in fear. Love is much more open but vulnerable.