Collaborative Medicines

Listening. To the sickness as it sings under my skin. I have the cure. Infront of me. So earnest and flourescent. It hums.

I think I prefer this song. That the silence would be too much. I think I prefer the sickness. At least, then, I know what is wrong with me.

Not like before. When there was no explanation.

Listening. Wherever it might go, but never hearing. Curing just enough to recover the power in the infection. Or whatever this is that I do. This halting salvation.

The little girl I can't forget. The woman I've never known.