Most of the time I can accept that I’m always losing some comparison game. It’s very healing.
Almost every day of my bedrest crows came to haunt me. They curled their talons and straightened their black cloaks on the bare winter branches outside my window. They stared in my room with sinister eyes and cawed menacingly. I trembled. There was no roadkill in my room for them to eat.
Whose death were they waiting for?