Even in my Dreams

Even in my dreams, I wander through these endless halls of tiled floors, elevators and desks. I pass each room, peering inside to see people lying in their beds attached to intravenous catheters, respiratory catheters, urinary catheters, feeding catheters; too many catheters. I enter each room as if I were a ghost hovering invisibly above the tiled floors. Why does my spirit keep bringing me back here? Haven’t I seen more of this place than any person should need to? Why would I choose to spend the rest of my life amidst these hallowed halls that echo with the cries of children long since passed away? I don’t know. All I know is that even in my dreams, my spirit returns.