I know all of them in an hour. I read the procedure, I talked to my doctor. This operation will prevent unhappiness in the future. I must leave my life in my belly because I am not ready not because I have to.
My darling fell asleep in a lot of alcohol. I was relieved or safe for seeing her. He is the owner of the needle, falling down from my brain, corners and walls.
I'm wearing one of those dudy hospital gowns. The sweat is not clear. They've got a couple of couples out of one mold. Although I don't need any help physically, they insist on reaching out from the room to the stretcher. I find this unreasonable action and I walk to the elevator.
I'm going down to the surgery room where the procedure will be disrupted. I met myself in the mirror. It was a short eye contact. Everywhere is quiet. The needle is still falling.
I took a deep breath. The cannula they put in my hand slowly give the drug. I'il wake up in about 45 minutes. Last time I saw my right foot fall off the side of the stretcher like a dough.
When I woke up, there was no trace of the needle. Now, I'm looking around with a buzz in my brain. I came home the same day.
We promised each other we'd talk. We could not hold it. What the hell was he talking to? I like the possibility of being destroyed, like all the fallen nights.
