Star-gazing. It's quiet. Lying in a meadow of the outskirts with the scent of fresh soil as the cold breaths of air tickle your cheeks, the night sky, has its depth of black and unknown whirls of ocean blue leave you in curious wonders on how deep the sky is as if it was the ocean. Losing sense of where you are as your soul strolls relaxed and the cold air ventilating your void cavity, you gaze at the stars and play connect-the-dots for as long as gravity allows your eyelids to. Beautiful stars.
On random occasions, and often when you're caught off-guard, memories can be stars too. Stars that leave you staring at the ceiling as three o' clock comes in silence. Puffs of cold air that uncovers the dust and brushes your numbed pain receptors alive. Pangs of pain that get you so desperate to thwart them. You look around the room for something to end this session of dull pain so isolated in you, unreachable as though it had attained a depth of the night sky. The box of medicine contains nothing to help for a while. Arcoxia won't work. While you run in desperation in between wakefulness and slumber, you stare at the ceiling, blank. Utterly blank.
These days.
I hope the preparations for the next two, and also my last two, examinations will be normal. Enough spending the last four examinations like this.
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