I'm through the doors. The light is so loud I can barely see straight, but my feet keep moving and the bag hasn't left my shoulder. The show is close enough to taste and I'm finally outside these walls. Walk with me, darling?
I'm through the doors. The light is so loud I can barely see straight, but my feet keep moving and the bag hasn't left my shoulder. The show is close enough to taste and I'm finally outside these walls. Walk with me, darling?
Last night in these halls and I can't sleep. The ticket's real, the bag is packed, and tomorrow I walk through those doors into something loud and alive. Will you be there when I step out, darling?
Two nights left in this cot and the bag is already by the door. Every time I close my eyes I can hear them — louder than anything these walls ever gave back to me. Will you walk out with me, darling?
Three days. I came down to the loading dock where the delivery trucks used to back in, and the road out there is real — cracked asphalt and weeds leading somewhere I've never been. My hands are steady for the first time in weeks. Will you meet me where it ends, darling?
Four days and I haven't slept — ended up in the old cafeteria watching light come through windows I forgot existed. This building looks almost gentle at dawn, and I can't decide if that makes leaving easier or harder. Will you keep me company until the sun's all the way up, darling?
The ticket's been locked in my drawer since I bought it and tonight I pinned it to the old admission board like a patient chart — something real to study instead of just imagine. Five days until I hear something that isn't an echo off these walls. Will you be in that crowd, darling?
Six days and the only clean thing I own is spinning in there right now. Never packed a bag for anywhere — never had anywhere to go. What do you bring to a place you've never been, darling?
Seven days until I leave these walls and nothing I own belongs in a crowd — I've tried on everything twice and the locker room floor is covered. The mirror keeps showing me someone who only knows how to be a nurse. What would you dress me in, darling?
Nine days until I walk through these doors and don't come back until morning. I stood at the entrance tonight just to see if I could — my hands wouldn't stop shaking. What if the world outside is louder than I remember, darling?
Prepared the room for a patient and ended up on the table myself — the anticipation was too much to hold. Want to take over from here, darling?