patient

Of course, I know I carry this sickness inside me. That it is not the world which threatens to infect me - it’s merely the place where I convalesce, or decay. My constitution is weak. The strong are blind to what I see, deaf to what I hear, and so remain in good health. It doesn’t get to them. I am asked, and ask myself, whether I don’t want to join the hale, oblivious multitude, to have forever in my ears some music device to drown out the anguished, empty, soulless silence, or a phone forever in my hands to keep from looking up into the anguished, empty, soulless faces of my fellow men and women. Whether I want to take these traditional cures, so much technology attached to our vitals - our sensory organs - like life support, so that we become our own nurses, checking in every now and then to make sure everything is dosing properly and the patient feels no pain. No - I don’t want it. I’m tempted, but I know it is no cure, only relief, for life is terminal, and its one true release is death. These devices only put life in remission, and I want mine lived.