Words created can be a nugget of information.
Sometimes cheap, derogatory or a source of transformation.
In the mind of a lyricist, weaving of words is an art,
In the mind of a plagiarist, evil grins and contempt resides in his heart.
It has been 6 months when she was confined in the hospital. I was driving the car, when a deer suddenly crossed at the center of the highway. I was shocked so I took a sudden right turn. Unfortunately, a black SUV came rushing at our side, hitting directly the passenger seat where she was sitting. I will never forget how devastated she looked as the blood flowed down her head. I passed out, and saw myself lying at the hospital bed the next day.
“Honey, Belinda, where are you?” I cried out the moment I realized I was lying on the hospital bed.
“Morgan, stay calm.” Rod is hugging me.
“Rod, where is Belinda? I need to see her. I want to see her,” looking helpless to him as tears are flowing on my temple. “Please!”
See also: NINETY-NINE ENCOUNTERS
Ode of a Broken Son
I was so desperate. The last image of her in my memory is bringing me so much pain. It hurts so bad as I blame myself for the accident.
“Rod, it’s all my fault. I was so careless.”
“Morgan, do not blame yourself,” trying to calm me. I can feel the slight trembling of his hands. “She’s in the next room.”
I gathered my strength and energy to stand as I went to her room next to mine. There I saw her sleeping peacefully.
“She’s in comma.” Rod told it straight to my face. “She lose too much blood when she was brought in the hospital.”
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