After the operation I was in the recovery room for hours, maybe days.
I never really asked. In the darkness, wrapped around with machines,
unaware of the hospital rush.
The thoughts on hold like my life.
Afterwards I remembered the occasional feeling of pure light seeping
through the eye lids and the warmth of somebody in the room.
It could be imagination, but it felt good.
I came and sat by you. I liked looking at you, while you were sleeping.
Who could understand my mood and melancholy better than someone
who walked in the woods that smelled of pine trees and cranberries