something that flashes

“i hope you can make time for some of your medical appointments.”

those simple words of care and kindness greeted me along with my morning cuppa tea and milk as i attempted to wake up and face another day of driving and paperwork and death and caregiving, dirty sheets and a dirty dog, an empty refrigerator and breadcrumbs littering the floor. in less than a blink, something moved in my gut. my heart shattered again. it bubbled through every organ, it coursed through my blood. it moved and creeped and slid up every inch of my skin, over every shaft of hair, battering every single contracted muscle in my body and then soundlessly blasted out of my ears with smoke and fire. words and screams and accusations escaped from my mouth, exploding into every inch of space between us taking away any intention of healing.