The MRI goes 24/7 and when we get to the hospital at night, everything is so quiet. Except the baby who is crying and crying when we check in at emerg. The baby's parents must be younger than us, they both look nervous. I wonder how many babies I'd have by now if I'd never left my small city.
Your town is completely unfamiliar to me, how funny that it's always been home to you. We have opposite eyes on the place.
I'm not one to feel strange in hospitals, I don't mind the smell, I don't mind the sterile look and feel - that's just how it is. But this emptiness at night is unnerving. I'm really glad to have come with you. I wonder if you feel better having me here.
I get the impression that you don't care either way, but I've never been able to read you properly.
I don't like being in hospitals alone, it seems like basically the loneliest. But waiting for you in the small room outside the magnets and machines is not lonely. Because I'm not here for me, I'm just busy being your sidekick, it's rare I get a real chance to be there for you.
I'm relieved when it's done though, I'm relieved we get back to your parents' place and hide out in the room I'm staying in, laughing and making fun of each other.
Yeah, I did love you, you know. Even if I never knew how to go about it properly.
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