I am eating an apple by candlelight. Each knife-cut slice comes away like the disc of a tiny moon. I admire the way the juice runs through the ridges the knife left, how the light shines through the thin end of each piece. The apple is so beautiful, each knife slice only reveals a new geometric plane from which to admire it. Yellow skin with a red blush, sweet juice. It's all I have eaten in two days. Thick fluids have lurched out of me in rough gargles, leaving me bereft of energy. The day passed slowly, time measured only in the languid shift of lying position. One long blank stare.
But now, right now, I am eating an apple by candlelight and I am thinking about how I wish there was someone here with me to rub my aching knees.