With the new year come desires for old memories. I still half want to remember the accident. The past six weeks and all my injuries and trials resulted from an event that, as far as I'm concerned, never happened. Perhaps I went into shock immediately after the car struck and broke my femur. But people spoke to me in English when I woke up. Since I had no identification on me, I must have been conscious and babbling in my native language at some point.
How can I stand living in this condition thanks to a moment that my mind has sliced out of the timeline of my memory?
April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
[T.S. Eliot]
Fun fact: I am five hours past my cripple bedtime and can hardly force myself to go to bed. For the first time in a while, there are many reasons to be happy; I won't bother to try to compartmentalize them.
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