Pericarditis

I guess I believe it all, these new home owners uploading surprise excavation videos of hidden basements, water wells, stairs leading us into subscribing for part two. Like god reveals itself, at least to some degree, within every renovation process. It’s like when art conservators pop some priceless painting out of its frame so they can punch up the yellow of an angel’s chin, only to realize underneath the canvas lies another, better person. Or how, when they x-ray your heart, they can’t say why the inflammation starts, just that it’s there. Imagine it, though, doctors digging inside your chest, finding some ancient ruin, some impossibly cavernous, outdated space stuffed with gold doubloons, lost texts elucidating what it means to die in the dark and wake up centuries later, famished, but maybe healed.