I laughed out loud when reading this and knew it was the one I wanted to share this week.
Gradually, I am weaned from the pain medication. My muscles still aren’t used to the density of my bones, so my existence becomes a melodic ache. They begin to feed me real food. Mickey sits on the edge of my cot stroking my hair well into the nights. I don’t care that his fingers feel like spider legs. I don’t care that he thinks I am some piece of art, his art. He gives me something called a hamburger. I love it. Red meats and thick creams and breads and fruits and vegetables make my diet. I have never eaten so well.
It may seem a little odd out of context. Essentially, the speaker underwent a massive surgery (think, scifi new body, new eyes, etc.) and is recovering to the point where he can eat, although he hasn’t had much of the food in the world he just discovered.
Can’t wait to see what you have posted!