I spent the night at hospital because I was ill and basically wrote for all of it.

Please note I was completely drugged up so the sentences somethings don't flow/aren't cohesive but I did try

A weak shade of green covers the walls, as if mocking the conditions of us patients. A white wristband on my left wrist, and a plastic accessory embedded in my skin on the right. Attached to that is a tube, transferring fluids to my sadly hopeful body. I can hear the faint plops of water of the drip, the sound of hope making its way through me. The curtains, that same mocking green of the walls surround me,

I am trapped, trapped not only by the physical ropes holding me down but by the frustration of the situation. I want to see the moon. We never seem to appreciate the moon, never bother dwelling at the simplicity of hanging out of your window with a benson in one hand and debussy playing in the background, gazing at the moon, and the complexity of its presence. It's times like these, when you're lonely and confined, when you really start to appreciate things that you won't otherwise give a thought to.

The End

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