Hospital Room 217
I think about all the tears I shed, and all the blood I bled. All the nights I starved myself to sleep, or drank myself to escape. All the disappointments, the challenges, the struggles, the ups and the downs. I think about all the scars that are carved on my weak body, and the stories behind them. I even think about all the hugs that contributed to healing my bruises, they were given to me by soft pillow. Moreover, I think about the day I ended up in hospital room 217. 217 was not the room’s number, I was senseless enough to recognize where I am let alone the hospital room number. Yet, I can absolutely remember the 21st of July; the date I gave in for the first time ever and let go of my last straw. And instead of facing my own fate, I ended up getting lost in an endless loop of self-torment.
Everyday that passes by, I think about all the aforementioned.
In that specific order.
From A to Z.
From soup to nuts.
From the tears I shed, to hospital room 217.
