Please leave my lungs alone. I know you have a lot of sand in the vicinity. I know that you have an impossible dust problem, too, and not even an army of swiffers could defeat it. I remember with gratitude that every week until now, I have swept piles and piles of air-borne dirt and dust off of my floor and given thanks that I've managed to dodge any serious lung funk over the past five months.
But now that you've finally gotten the best of me, please stop. I admit defeat. I cry "uncle." No mere mortal lungs could ever stand up to you forever. My naivete has passed.
But coughing up a half year of pulminary encrustation hurts. So please, darling Cairo, leave my bronchioles alone.
Sincerely,
Alissa
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