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  • I was in the room for a long time. I had to be there, day and night, no way to leave yet. There were big windows but higher than my line of vision and there wasn't much to see outside anyway, still the natural light was nice. Over time it began to feel like I had to get out of the room, too long inside, too many people, too much overwhelm from the repetitiveness of hour upon hour in one space with no way out. Then came reprieve, I got to leave.

    The feeling of air. It was cool. It was open. It was liberty. Every cell in my body sang relief.

    When I remember that room, my cognitive brain wants to fix first on the feeling of oppression and then it wants to re-live the the joy of the air outside and how even being in a traffic jam amid concrete and tarmac immediately after the room seemed like freedom and joy and nature. I guess that's what cognitive brains do. But while I remember I felt those things, I can't now recall at all how the feelings felt. I just imagine.

    The feeling I actually remember today is the enduring sensation of healing after the room door softly closed behind me.
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