It is the only one that keeps me alive. I am the only one who treats it. One blue vein with blue walls and straight legs like mine. One that has no place here, but simply is. One worthless vessel created at my birth. From my consciousness I can hear it, but I don't care for it.

Its silence is heard. It beats vigorously in my body. It stays in place, but moves like a snake, slithering in between sharp rocks, reaching for the light, but never receiving it. This is how it exists.

No one will forget its purpose for living, for it would dry up like a small stream in the heat of summer. Leave, leave, leave it says when I breathe. It thinks.

When I am too strung out and too blue to keep breathing, when I am just a pebble in a pile of earth, it is then that I think of my vein. When there is nothing left to think of on this earth. One who survived despite disease. One who grew and did not forget to grow. One whose only purpose is to live and live.