The curtain for a weekend opens. I am ready.
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It is cold, even though it is July; there is darkness even thought it is dawn. It is a Saturday and it is a cruel one. It is a lifeless telephone. It is a breath that freezes you. The voice is clear to my ear. Nothing that beset me seems to touch it. I receive a Biblical attack throughout by body. Yet, the voice can, and is, calm. Nothing touched it, there is nothing that wants to come out if it. I open my mouth to free the pain. I can hear advice. Or better still, admonitions. But who is this voice? How fast did thousands of moments faint? How easily and carefree does she open her eyes and see clearly? I hear nothing of what I expected. Not a word. A simple breath. Some evidence that I have not lived something fake.
How can I lift th
