For several days, I slept. Whether this was a necessary part of physical recovery, or a stubborn retreat from waking reality, I do not know, but I woke only reluctantly to take a little food, falling at once back into a stupor of oblivion, as though the small, warm weight of broth in my stomach were an anchor that pulled me after it, down through the murky fathoms of sleep.
The narrator describes a prolonged state of sleep, suggesting uncertainty whether it's a natural part of healing or a desire to escape reality. This period of slumber appears heavy and consuming, as waking up seems to require great effort.
During moments of wakefulness, the narrator only eats minimally, quickly drifting back into a deep, oblivious sleep. The warmth of the broth seems to anchor them further into this state of rest, illustrating a struggle between the need for nourishment and the desire to remain within the comforting depths of unconsciousness.
