It scares me deeply, the thought of it. Let me hold on to this nothingness for a while longer, for once gone, I will never live it again.
It scares me deeply, the thought of living in the real world.
I sit here in this waiting room, my own personal hell, this dark, small, waiting room; I sit here alone, waiting, hoping the operation will be a success. Days turn into weeks and I have yet to make contact with anyone or anything. I just sit here. Waiting. Shaking. Scared. All the time. In this loveless waiting room.
I yearn for my time here to come to an end almost as much as I fear it. Will I have a life outside the waiting room, in the real world, or will I be taken to another room? All I can do is wait for you to come through that door and tell me how it went.
“Give it to me straight. Am I going to live?”
Calvin the Hippo
I am not like other hippos. Many would not know it, but it’s true. The main problem with being me is that I have to look for happiness in other hippos. I have none of my own, so I can only feed off of someone else’s, someone who is willing to share theirs, someone who cares. Things would be easier if I wasn’t such a picky hippo. I don’t accept just anyone’s happiness; I have to make sure I like their happiness. I have to make sure it suits me. It generally does not.
I am not like other hippos.
If you’re born of geese, chances are you’re a gosling.
And yet, here I am…
A man in France died of a heart attack because a man in Africa had picked his nose three years before.
Here I am once more, in this hell I’ve felt before.
Grazed knees have taught me nothing.