Of mushroom and loneliness
A true tale of fear and love
That day my hands became blue
They said:
“Your body is defending itself. Every inch of oxygen is needed elsewhere”.
The ambulance was running faster and faster.
They said:
“Slow down, don’t push hard, let me see your hands”.
My hands were white and pale.
The silence and the beating has emptied every single space in there
They said:
“We are almost there.”
Yellow code: suspicious mushroom poisoning.
I was anchoring my life to the roots of my solitude,
waiting on that chair next to patients’ waiting room.
I felt myself breaking and praying.
Alone.
With mushroom in my stomach and eagerness of living.
I got through it.
I stayed alive.
For five days I can’t write a word.
This is an experiment of coming back, then.
I do not know why.
It is like wanting to be in a cradle, safe and warm.
Because outside I met the wolf.
Because I really do not know who I am.
Because I have to start again considering I am alive.
So this is an experiment.
An ode to stay here, whatever happened before.
