20/1/2018, 02:04 pm
I don't know how I'm feeling. I'm confused and lost.
But I can't tell anyone.
Mom would freak out and rush me to the hospital for another checkup. I don't want that.
I hate and love the hospital.
Many people have died there, but many others have been born there.
I love how I don't feel alone when I'm there, and I hate how others are going through what I'm going through.
It makes me sad.
This breath could be our last and we're spending it in hospital rooms with strangers accompanied by pitiful eyes and the only thing they give us is treatment hung on the false hope of us getting better.
Isn't it sad?
YOU ARE READING
One Last Miracle
Short StoryDying. That's how she is. Dying. -- Miracles happen and one of them is the desire to write her thoughts in a worn out copybook. So she does and she hopes when she's gone, anyone would find it. That's the only way to ensure she won't be forgotten.
