Freewrite: "Coming and Going", by bonzopoe

This was not planned: write before I leave, but what the hell, what else gives a few more lines to close the door. In this realm of machines of which I am the center, I feel like I started to leave weeks ago, and there is only one last step left before I leave completely.

At times it makes me want to go back. Especially when I hear voices in the distance, mixed with the beeps of the machines connected to my body. But going back hurts. I've tried and it hurts. And call me selfish if you want, but I have already paid my share of suffering.

Sometimes I see distant lights even though my eyes are closed. Sometimes I remember things that feel as if they were foreign. Sometimes I don't know if I'm still here or if I'm gone. Sometimes I don't know if I'm leaving or I'm coming. Sometimes I don't know if this pain is a memory or something present. Sometimes I just move my fingers and I don't know what I'm writing anymore.

This was unplanned: typing right out the door, but what the heck, switching at this point in the game doesn't make sense.

In this constellation of lights that now surrounds me, I suddenly feel cold. I feel that I cannot breathe, that I am alone, that I have been disconnected from the known world. I feel for the first time? the nothing. I feel for the first time? a slap that reactivates my senses, and I become one with the air and scream.

—Congratulations. It's a boy.

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