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It starts like a whisper under the skin, and is a crazy weakness. Thunder pain, no emergency warning, Only quiet resolution of normal stimuli.
It does not speak of throat tickling like a secret, muscles are tired and not completely brave. Blinking with the glass glaze, the moments blurs with sleepy haze. The world is still changing, life is still flowing, but the body is increasingly careful. blankets hold more, tea tastes of divine, and even soft silence feels like a shield.
There are no masses of doctors, no hopeless cry, Distant thoughts and harsh sighs. The rhythm of the bodies is slightly slower, and is not shown like winter rain.
You try to climb, Will is there, but the bones refuse with gentle attention. It appears that half of the tasks have been shifted, with thoughts being derifted, and minutes.
It is softer and more unknown, not the case of power or bones or pain, just incorrect, days are expelled and when it is suitable for light.
But there is still hope in the subtle things - steam from the soup, singing bird, mother's call, lover's lover, promise that you will heal next.
If you have mild illness, mild tribute, But the lesson for the soul: pause, rest, notice, get your body repaired.
So when you regain burn rescue and return power, and health again,you will be grateful for every breath you take - per blow, all joy, all joy you make.
