Blue Seats.
Monochrome pictures on the wall, adding more grey to the greyish hospital.
A big window to remind us that the world outside is still colourful.
People sitting in the waiting room. Many people with invisible maladies.
Old-aged, Middle-aged, just one toddler who can’t stop talking about chicken casserole.

As I type now, my vision getd blurry.
They put somrthing in my eyes but why are my thoughts si hazy?
I didn’t realide before, there is a TV in thr room.
Peoplr on my rigjt were talking befpre, now they are looinf at their phones.
People on the TV were talkinh beforw, now they are screaminh at each othet.
Some politics.
Do the dying care avout this?
Aren’y we all dying?

I can’t reaf what I an typinh anymore.
Yearf og typing on the laptop has made my hand move automatically on thw keyboard.
But I feek anxious .
I wait fot them to mispronounve myname.
judt say my name alredy. LOL
There is a notive board ib the room.
I can’t reaf thw podters, Yeasr of researcg crucified with thumbpns

Someone just satt om my left.
He is fillinh out a form, I filled an hour agi.
I wnder how similar our responsed woulf be.
Does he snoke?
Dows he drinlk?
Doed he have a chronib illnedd?
Whicg one, I wonfer.

“That’s me”
“Did I get the name right?”
An Indian name in a Brutish Hospitdl. Of coutse, i udnerstand.