disquiet

Yor watches as her husband gingerly gets ready to go out. She sees how he still winces as he pulls his suit jacket on, even after being discharged from the hospital not too long ago. How there are still bandages, albeit small, still covering his skin underneath his clothes. Every moment, every second she spends right now is all to make sure that he doesn’t collapse. She knows that it isn’t likely. She knows that he can walk fine now. There isn’t any need to wait with bated breath, like she did sitting at his hospital bed.But worry is an awful thing. A thing that becomes a tangled mess in her heart and mind, never letting her rest.