seventy six

I don't know why I'm here. I could blame it on the traffic, or the fact that I'm lost, or on sheer rebellion, but at some point during the drive I must have subconsiously decided to come here. There's way too much mocha in this fappuchino I'm drinking, but I'm also missing her way too much, so it balances out. I guess the hospital validates my sadness.

The man in the parking garage elevator addressed me. "How are you doing today?" He asked.

"Alright," I replied, and I think I was staring at the numbers counting down the floors.

"You look sad," he said, "the hospital's a sad place."

It was at this point I teared up. "Yeah, I know my way around here way too well."

Now I am alone in Truett café listening to doctors chatter behind me. I don't understand how they do it-- work here. The stench of death and sanitizer is overwhelming and all I can think about is the months I spent here and how I miss my nana's hugs and how I hope God doesn't let her suffer much longer.

Mrs. Carla talks about quality of life, and assures me it's okay to feel this way. It helps a little.

I wish that I could get out of this place. I wish that I too could die. But then again I want to go home, I want to do my schoolwork, and I want to go to bed. The only disruption is the way her footsteps sound on the hardwood and how I can't understand her words.

Remind me why I'm here again? Right- I'm lost. And there's decent wifi.

I'm scared I won't get home in time to cover this up; I'm scared someonr will notice me again. I'm scared that this agony will never end.

I'm know I won't get her back again. Turns out the worst fears aren't even fears at all.