Clara
The ceiling is the first thing I see every time I open my eyes. White… too white.
I blink slowly, as if my eyes haven't quite adjusted to the light. Everything feels… strange. I couldn't explain it clearly, but it's as if my body is here… and my mind, a little further back.
Every time I wake up, it feels like the first time.
A second late, I breathe, and that simple act feels… heavy. As if I haven't done it in a long time.
I barely move my fingers… and I feel something, a pressure. I turn my head slightly and see her.
My mother… She's sitting next to me, her head resting near the bed, her hand holding mine tightly, as if she's afraid I might disappear or leave at any moment.
She's been here since I opened my eyes.
I watch her for a few seconds; she looks tired. Very tired.
