The Void Between Hearts ~~ongoing~~

35. Boma

The Void between bridges. . .
Finally, you burn them.
Love? It's an emotion.
Emotion? Influenced by hormones.
Hormones? Cause change.
Change? You're done crying.
~◇~◇~

Did I mention how suddenly I realized that all the sad love songs were always about me? Billie Eilish captured it in When the Party's over. I quickly wipe my eyes and take off my headphones when a bald brown head peeks into the ward.

He walks in, "uhm. Physio. It's time. "

I shrug, "I'm ready."

He surveys my state of readiness, "hospital gown, messy hair, red eyes, maybe some leftover snort." He begins to laugh.

"I didn't realise a sick person could look so amusing." I fix my headphones back in and turn on my phone . Seeing the screensaver, I take time to relax and breathe. He got everywhere, like sand or is it lice? Hitting the delete button keeps me in a moment of silence. I've lost my favourite picture and person all in one day, I never saw this day coming.

He waves in my face and I'm trying to ignore him. He keeps waving. Something about the way his fingers float around my tired face is really annoying. I'm not happy, I'm probably going to be unhappy till I die. Why can't anybody figure that out? How hard could it be?

"What?" I take off the headphones again, craving Billie's voice as soon as it leaves my ears. "What is your issue with me? Is it time for the physiotherapy or not?"

Unmoved, he asks, "Boyfriend?"

I take a better look at him. Average height, groudnut brown skin, bald head, long nose, scanty brows and sparse beards. He shouldn't be more than 20, and he isn't wearing scrubs, plus he looks too happy to be a hospital staff. "What are you supposed to be?" I ask, unable to hide my irritation.

"Not nurse, not doctor, at least not yet," he smiles like he sees a distant celestial light," He extends his hand, "Michael. " I ignore it. "Cute." He smacks his lips, "what are you mixed with?" He throws another useless question and I'm wondering why my life has to be this way.

"What?"

"Like your heritage, your ancestral..." he goes on explaining.

I roll my eyes, completely thrown off by his apparent ignorance of the obvious fact that he's pissing me off. "I knew what you were asking, it was very clear."

"Well you haven't answered dear. "

Dear? Who is this demented clown?

"Ha." I chuckle, "Nope." I hear it in his voice, he's flirting, "I can't do this again. " I whisper underneath my dry sour hospital breath.

"Do what? I'm sorry if the question offended you, it's just that I follow these accounts on Instagram where they post pictures of mixed kids and I'm always amazed by the different races and the beautiful kids and..."

Why does he keep on talking?

"German. " I blurt, just so he can stop.

"Mom or Dad?" He asks again.

The door opens, mom pushes the wheelchair in. She got one with pink, my life is officially unforgettable. "There's your answer. " I say.

"Good day ma'am" he greets happily, "let me help you with that." He pushes the wheelchair up to the bed. I get a good look at it, I hope this coming four months isn't very long.

"Oh hi, you're?" Mom folds the flappy sleeves of her comfy beige crocheted sweater. I love that sweater but it has become a symbol of the sadness that my life is, she wears it only when I'm admitted in the hospital and it looks worn so imagine how often she's had to wear it.