Giving Blood

There is a hole in my arm. Right in the middle. It’s small and perfectly round, oh, and it’s bleeding. Well, not bleeding anymore, but it was. Blood started flowing almost as soon as the needle pricked its way in and I was hooked up to the many tubes.

I got to touch my own blood, It was inside a thick plastic wrap, but I could feel it. It was warm and thick, not like water. It was sort of like tomato juice or warm tomato soup, like momma used to make while papa flipped grilled cheeses in the frying pan.

When I saw my blood outside it was weird, it wasn’t like when I feel it rushing through my insides: the rhythmic pulsing of it, my internal metronome guiding my day by day. I feel it so strongly some days, I feel my heart beating right under my skin. Sometimes, sometimes I think i can see my heart on the outside.

It makes me feel connected, you know, that someone, somewhere shares this magical crimson life-supplier with me, that someone, somewhere understands. That I saved them, we are each other, united.

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