waiting outside

I sit in the car, the engine off. The hospital looms behind me, the windows lit up like a grid. I've been waiting for hours, the minutes ticking by. I think about the person inside, the one I'm waiting for. I don't know what's happening, the details vague. I was told to wait, to be patient. I look out the window, the darkness pressing in. The hospital is a place of waiting, the corridors filled with people waiting for news. I think about the times I've waited, the moments of uncertainty. I wait for a call, a text, a knock on the door. The waiting is the hardest part, the not knowing. I get out of the car, the cool air a relief. I walk to the entrance, the automatic doors sliding open. I go inside, the warmth enveloping me. I sit down, the chair hard beneath me. I wait, the minutes ticking by. I think about the person inside, the one I'm waiting for. I hope they're okay, that the news is good. I wait, the waiting a kind of limbo. I'm suspended in time, the world outside receding. The hospital is a place of waiting, the minutes stretching out like hours. I wait, the only sound the hum of the fluorescent lights. I think about the person inside, the one I'm waiting for. I hope they're okay, that the news is good. The waiting is the hardest part, the not knowing. I wait, the minutes ticking by, the darkness outside pressing in.