She sits down, surprised to notice that the wrought iron of the gate bears the very same pattern as her jacket. It must have been the most popular design thirty years ago.
She had been discharged from the hospital just yesterday, after spending thirty years there—in the same room, deep in a coma.
The doctors called it a miracle: she woke up thirty years later without a single wrinkle; perhaps it was because, throughout all those years, she had known no cares. Her mother told her that it was stiflingly hot that day, and that she had taken off her helmet to go rollerblading....
Today, she still looks eighteen, even though she is already forty-eight. She never had a full-time job. She casts her gaze upon her mother—who watched over her for three decades and who, now nearly eighty years old, has just drifted off to take a nap on the bench. She feels a pang of guilt toward her.
Come what may—both for her own sake and for her mother’s—she owes it to herself to stay alive... and to learn how to live.
~Jeff, another great photo ! Excuse my Strange Comment Indeed. ~VVVVV+~
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