I quietly entered the room. As usual, I asked, "Are you there?" ”
She sat on the floor with her legs folded, like a monk. "I'm in a crystal desert." She said, eyes still closed. "The sand under my feet felt like soft glass, and I could see the snakes and beetles beneath it."
I stepped forward and picked up the plate in front of her. The food on it had long been cold and had hardly been passive. "That sounds beautiful, my love." I spoke loudly, but my heart sank. She's not here.
Late that night, she went to bed. "I'm here." She whispered to me, "The desert shows me how beautiful a transparent place can produce, but I belong to the part of this world that is sometimes hidden." And just like that, I held her until we both fell asleep and had a dreamless night.
I walked gently into the room. I asked her, "Are you there?" ”
Her closed eyes fluttered back and forth, as if in a dream, but she asked for something; she was choosing the focus of her gaze. "I'm in a hazy sea of red. The fish here feed on the darkness, and they don't want to be seen. ”
I leaned down and draped the blanket over her shoulders, something she had tried to do before leaving. "That sounds mysterious, my darling." I told her so. I wish my tone had not betrayed her grief, for her ecstasy was not her fault. She's not here.
Late that night, she didn't go to bed, but woke me up in the morning. She had been addicted for at least sixteen hours. "I'm here." She told me, "Those fish taught me to be patient to gain trust, but I belong to those places that are sometimes bright." "That's it, I prepared our breakfast and stayed for a while to make sure she ate enough.
I carefully entered the room. "Are you there?" I asked, knowing the answer in my heart.
She lay on the ground with her arms raised above her head. "I'm in a forest with gravity upside down. I had to grab the tree or the ground above or I would fall into the sky. ”
I knelt down beside her and picked up the teacup she had dropped on the floor. It shattered around her, and the fragments fell to the ground in a radial manner, as if they had burst out of her body. "That sounds really bizarre, my sweetheart." As I moved her body to reach the shards of glass beneath her, I felt like she was so light. I could barely feel her weight, which broke my heart, as if she were already half a ghost. She's not here.
For more than three days, I couldn't communicate with her, and she flew between all sorts of worlds. Whenever I had the chance, I would hold her, stroke her head, and feed her water and food with a spoon. But I would leave during the day, and when I wasn't there, I was sure she wouldn't do anything, just sit or lie down and let the universe pass by her. Every day, I came home just like when I left. She didn't move a single minute, and a strand of hair covered her face, still in its original position. Toward the end of the third day, I was about to go to bed when she cried out behind me. "Help me, please help me. I hurt as soon as I moved. "I forgot my exhaustion and ran to her side." Take your time, my dear, take your time. "Extremely carefully and patiently, we moved together, from sitting, to climbing, to standing up. We had a real meal together and I helped her squeeze and stretch every muscle until she could move on her own. Then we went to bed, rested together, and had a dreamless night.
This nightmare lasted for almost a year. Her journey was extended one by one; one week, two weeks, three weeks, and finally a month. How to make her eat regularly, how to make her muscles not completely lose their function due to lack of exercise, this has become the only thing that has always been on my mind. I spend more and more time every day pushing and pulling on her arms, legs and back, at least to keep the blood flowing. I could barely sleep at night because I was always looking for anyone or thing in the libraries, clinics, and paranormal shops in town who could help me. One organization had given me hope that about half a year ago they sent a white coat doctor to examine her. There are too many tests, instruments, and terminology that I don't understand. But even so, they left and said something vague to me to show that it wasn't their problem. "Shouldn't you be a foundation?" Shouldn't you help others? "I yelled. I had a moment of hope, and when it shattered, I felt pain like never before. The doctor turned around and told me he was sorry. Whether this is what he really thinks, I will never know.
Every day when I come home, as soon as I walk in the door, I ask, "Are you there?" "Every day, she tells me about some magical places. Volcanoes spewing ice, clouds made of sheet metal, castles built entirely of grass. Every day, it gets harder for me to show my concern. Every day, I just wish she could say "yes," just once. During the day I became irritable and learned to hate colleagues who were content to talk about their family life. Her friends came to her, and they were worried. I don't know what to say to them. They will never understand that her coma is selective or that the world cannot satisfy her. I told them she wasn't available right now. I can't do that anymore. Please, honey, I still love you. Say "yes."
Just once, please, say "yes."
I walked slowly into the room. Deeply frustrated, I asked, "Where are you, my dear?" ”
The floor was empty. I looked around, a little worried, but I spotted her. She was sitting on the edge of the chair, which was my chair. Her dull blue eyes looked straight into my eyes. Focus. watchfulness. exist. "I'm in... I'm at home. She decided, "My lover was with me, and when the world called, I abandoned him." He cared about me, and I didn't think about him. ”
I walked into the room and took her in my arms. As I spun her around in my arms and led her to the door, she let out a pure laugh. I said to her, "Honey, that sounds... All right. "My smile comes from the heart, but it hurts a little because it is not used very often. We walked out the door and enjoyed the world. As always, it's always the case. It's green, it's vibrant, it's not perfect, but it belongs to us. She's here, and we're free.