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.
Searching for a Friend on a Rainy Day
It’s cold and wet outside and I have nowhere to go. I wander the streets aimlessly, searching for someone who will share their company with me, but no luck so far. I look up at the people that walk by, but no one will stop for me. I chase cars to pass the time, but even this is beginning to seem pointless. I keep asking myself why I do it and I can’t seem to find an answer. I fear what will become of me.
I just want someone to share a bone with.