I'm in a waiting room.
's night and now I wait.
There is silence.
Sometimes the red door to my right opens. People leaving dressed in green or blue. They seem quiet, do their work. I wait. The chairs are worn. Consumed by the waiting time. that has a gash on my left. It might seem a smile but to me it seems more like a desperate mouth. A mouth that screams, or rather he would like to scream, but the voice does not come out. From here, everything is quiet outside. there is no noise. In the waiting room is all muffled. Time does not flow as in reality, there are different times. The minutes are marked by the noises coming from the red door. I try to steal recognize familiar voices and footsteps, but as soon as I turn around I find blank faces that I did not say anything.
The items in the waiting room have different meanings. I see looks lost, I would like specific answers but I think these waiting rooms do not have this accuracy. It 's a world that does not know who scares me. Beside me is my brother. Let's talk about this and that, but now within a few hours do not remember any words. I only know that in the waiting room can not speak of things difficult. There is talk of coffee, bathrooms and hard work. We talk about what I would or would not want to do. We talk, but the white walls, I remove the item and I make it hard to hear. Before me there's a handwritten sign with care, in blue. It 's a beautiful blue and I bet you want a girl who wrote it. A girl my age, perhaps, in a Monday night in April, when the situation is quiet, sits down and writes. Seemed to me to see her take a blank sheet of paper and write a few words with a pen and stained floor. Then cut the tape into small pieces and accurate. Minutes that pass in the infinite time. That time does not count, which is marked by red doors waiting to be opened.
Below are the sign of the treads. I guess the people waiting, like me, and that supports the shoes to the wall. I would not. I do not want to leave footprints here. I do not want this place. I do not want this place above all that I recognize.
In this world time beautiful person. There are hours of waiting, there is only the wait. The wait to see you and no matter what I have to wait, time passes and there is no other. It 's another world, made up of silences, phrases and futile hopes.
It 's the waiting room of the emergency room.
When the red door opens and you You're standing there, everything changes. Crossing the great entrance door is a return to reality. The time now is punctuated by minutes of breathable air, by different sounds. It 's night, but I do not know if it's cold, I'm good at your side and the red door is just a bad memory.
