Once, when I was in the hospital, you visited me.
The others had gone to get coffee. I was alone with you. I held my breath.
I told you how I’d been up all night. The drugs had made my pupils expand. I had read all my books. I had been there too long.
You played cards with me. You told me how I should look after myself better. I had worried you.
It wasn’t until you were leaving. You reached in your backpack and took out your book.
You told me you hadn’t finished it but that I could read it before you. After all, I had finished all my books. I obviously needed it more than you.
So I took it from you. Indeed the book was still dog eared where you left it.
I felt like you’d recharged a piece of my soul.
