Life is not about love.
I signed my name on the last page and the anesthesiologist left quietly.
But I was lost in the clean and gentle impression of the anesthesiologist for a long time. It seemed that I was still confused in a dream and did not wake up.
I was lost in that soft, firm and therefore professional call. It seemed that before I woke up from sleep, that gentle, distant call was repeated and echoed over and over again in my memory.