Plastic Furniture. No matter how nice you make it, it still squeaks. The squeaks keep the sick awake. Why would you want to keep the sick awake? Every little movement, squeaks away another chance for peace. Alexi Murdoch understands. He understands that he sick need sleep. That the tired need to rest, under that orange sky. That those who have been working, working, working….need a break.
But their break has been interrupted, by plastic furniture.
I wish i could just stand, or lay on the floor, but my bones are heavy. My spirit is weak. Every step, my feet feel like falling into the floor. Until I blend in with the wood. But i have to be strong. I need to be strong. Even though I want to melt into the hardwood floors, and disappear, I must be a rock. Steady and strong. I hide my tears in a corner, to keep everyone safe.
Fucking doctors. All they care about is time. Not the wellbeing or the concerns of their patients. When did caretakers become assembly line workers. Put this piece here, cut this piece out. We can have your baby in under an hour. Fucking impatient, is all. cant sit still, cant let the life inside make its way into the world. Cut it up and throw it out. No care for their patients. No care at all. Even the good ones put you on a timetable. Waiting to carve up the turkey. Caretakers, I see no caretakers, save the nurses. Those whos paycheck does not determine the way they treat you. They are here because they care, not because they want your savings.
Its good to see you sleep. Resting. You worked so hard. So very very hard. You were strong, but this weight was too big for you. You did you best, and dont ever forget that. You did your very best, and i could not be more proud. I will tell the generations of your strength, my love.
The machines laugh at our frustration. Buzzing and clattering in delight.
The grey sky gets it. Its singing along with my blues. But things will get better. This day will not weigh so heavily on me soon. The light will shine, the wizard will appear, the rock will be overturned….and all will be made right. Through new life.
Oh my precious child, how I longingly wait for your arrival. I wrote you a song, its not very good, but it has heart. It has soul. It has blood, sweat, pain, tears, happiness, and time all blended together. Though it may not be difficult, and it may not be unique, it is true. It is my soul, ripped from my essence, onto the keys. Take a look inside, son, and know how much your daddy loves you. How much your daddy cant wait to see you, to hold you, to watch you.
Plastic furniture is squeaky, but you can wipe the tears away. Maybe thats why they keep it in these rooms. So that the tears can be wiped away.
Tears of joy, tears of joy.