The doctors said it was a virus.
I walked in to the office
on that Monday afternoon,
my purse clutched tightly to my breast,
and they sat me down in a sterile room
and told me some
foreign disease attached itself to the
neurons in my brain.
It’s only been a few hours, but
I can already tell a difference:
The world is blurred around the edges
and I go to sleep for long hours and wake up
feeling displaced, like time has lied,
thinking another day as passed,
it is Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday,
Friday morning.
The virus has made these days longer.
They told me it was
terminal.