Pitch Black to 36
It was pitch black. I winced. My head pound. I am at a familiar place. I blinked. Doing the best I possibly could on the circumstances. The cloud on the ceiling. Wooden roof. A familiar soothing smell. Yes, I’m pretty confident I am where I suppose to be. A sense of relieve.
Racing heart of how I less likely to be able to connect the dot of moments passed. I ran through filings of memories, doing the best I could to recollect. Pitch black. Pitch black. Pitch black.
Thirst stole my thought. Manuka Honey to the rescue. The warmth that smokes coming out of the 98c water cup, pouring sweat, the head continue to pound. This is one of those day, so I thought on that very morning.
Hot water pouring onto my head. The body aches. An unfamiliar pain and sign. It wasn’t there the day before. So I thought this is what 36 feels like and it pretty much it.
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