baby

hospitals are terrible places. the sickly pastel chairs with their stiff cushions lined up beside plastic plants posing ironically in dirt-filled pots. this is the world's most horrible place to cry. sitting in one of those chairs, you look down at the bare tiled floor, glowing with a disinfectant sheen, and try to pretend you're sleeping and not catching tears in your sweater sleeve. breathing deeply and pinching between your fingers to still the waves of nausea, binding them together to quell the shaking. feeling like a complete idiot. feeling like you've gotten lost somehow. stranded on the surface of the moon.