Dedicated to my doctor who gets a kick out of my symptom descriptions.
My throat feels like a scream trapped in my voice box. Like it was placed in the freezer for a long winter’s keeping. My throat is the piece of the sofa that can no longer find its shape.
Inside my mind, a child is draped over an office chair, spinning and spinning. The room shrinks and grows, depending on how she turns.
Everything she sees, she names aloud.
Again and again.
Sometimes what I ask her to hold, slips from her hands.
The room decides what can’t stay.
My throat feels like I’ve swallowed everything that has ever slipped away.
rarasaur 
Perfect landing.
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Loved it!!
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I can totally see why your doctor gets a kick out of your symptom descriptions. I tried to imagine the sofa losing its shape, my throat did not comply, I just felt sad instead. Lol. I loved this piece of writing.
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Oh wow – that last line – my throat is always problematic and now I wonder if that’s what it is, that I’ve tried to swallow everything that has slipped away, and being as old as I am, a lot has slipped away. Life’s sure funny when you realize that all you have is now and you’ll never get any of those memories back.
Alison
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