I hate hospitals.
I hate seeing the dead and the dying, the sick and terminally ill. Most of all, I hate seeing their loved ones waiting, waiting for nothing. Trying desperately to piece together any semblance of hope.
Who would have thought that I would ever be one of them?
I am one of the lucky ones. I should be screaming, tears of joy running down my cheeks. I should be so happy.
After all, he’s coming out of the coma. The doctors just need to check that he’s okay. Right? Right.
Any yet I can’t shake this feeling of anxiety, as though deep in my soul I know something is wrong.
A bit later, a doctor in a white coat comes out of the room. He tells me things, so many things I cannot understand. I don’t know what it means. Post-traumatic retrograde amnesia, he says.
I have too many questions.
Is he okay? Does this mean he won’t remember me, that he won’t remember us, our lives? Will he ever get better? Can I see him? Please?
They let me in, after warning me that he might not even remember me at all.
I made a mistake. This is all my fault. What have I done?
Words race through my head, stinging with every thought. My heart is racing, my hands are shaking. And, when no one is looking, I let out a quiet sob and brush the tears away.
He doesn’t remember. He isn’t this broken shell standing in front of me. No.
I look at him, my eyes are pleading. “Don’t you remember me?” I ask him.
Please, please, please. Please remember. Please don’t have forgotten. How could you?
I think I see just a flicker of recognition in his eyes, but it is soon replaced by doubt. Tentatively, he says, “No… Should I?”
He can’t remember. He doesn’t remember. Why?
I give him a melancholy smile, while my world crashes before my eyes. “Nothing. I just thought – “
I just thought maybe you would remember. I just thought that what we had was special enough to remember. I just thought I was special enough to remember. I just thought you loved me.
I let the tears fall, not caring who sees any more. He looks concerned. “Are you okay?” he asks with that smile. Oh God, that smile – it’s killing me. I wish I could tell him.
You and I – we’re in love. Maybe not now, maybe not in this universe. But once upon a time you were my prince and I was your princess. Once upon a time, we were happy.
He looks at me, blissfully unaware of my world crumbling down around me. Our world breaking down, bit by bit.
He looks so peaceful, so happy. But he’s gone. Gone.
My heart breaks.