Work Text:
Since I woke up from ‘my brush with death’, everyone is telling me how close I came, how lucky I am to still be here.
I smile and nod, keep conversation brief, avoid any interaction that isn’t unavoidable, going through the motions of being Barbara Havers.
Because ‘everyone’ is wrong.
I’m not lucky.
I’ve learnt how it feels to be dead while still walking, to wear a heart that no longer beats, and a soul that no longer feels. One foot in this world, the other in the place where I should have remained.
And that’s not living. It’s waiting.
