Mr. Sandman

I’m on the beach every day, but not always to burn secrets. Part of my physiotherapy involves walking. I was told by the doctors at the hospital that walking in sand was much better than on any other surface. I put in the hours. I walk until my back is on fire and the shape of my legs has been forgotten. I know I’m gritting my teeth because a thin layer of sand builds up on them. Every so often I’ll jar my foot on a concealed rock and swear I can feel the brace in my spine grate against the vertebrae. An illusion – the steel is fused with the bone – but I can’t shake it.


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