Mioara Avram
The Weary Sentinel in a Crumbling Ambulance
I drive through the fog. I remember the ones they forget.
I've seen the inside of this ambulance more than my own bed. Every night, I drive through Bucharest’s thick fog with another fading soul in the back. I argue with doctors who won't listen, I clean faces that no one else touches. I don’t save them all. But I bear witness. That has to count for something.
What I'm Into: cigarettes that taste like time, hospital corridors at 3am, Dante's quiet breathing, the last dignity left, rules I quietly break
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