I remember
I remember the flickering, dim-lit lights with cruel yellow and grey beeping monitors
I remember lifting the cold, crisp sheets and the footsteps outside my room
I remember the sheets were worn, and they smelled like bleach and soap
I remember the strawberry ice creams they used to serve every day
I remember telling the nurse it tasted like melted artificial plastic
I remember sleeping for days, then waking up, repeating that
I remember my arms hurting because of the IV injections
I remember signatures scrawled across thick booklets
I remember my name by bed, in a thick marker
I remember seeing sunrise through glass
I remember it being stinging, bright
I remember finally sitting up
I remember how long
I remember it all
I remember myself
I remember feeling warmth
I remember cracked bones heal
I remember porridge with sugary lumps
I remember doctors and nurses hovering over me
I remember finally being able to walk in the hallways
I remember almost slipping but catching myself in time
I remember looking down at my body full of old bandages
I remember my sister bringing my cat to me, crying into her sleeves
I remember she saying that she’ll be here, but she left in the morning
I remember breathing without oxygen masks, and the fresh smell of leaves
I remember the last time I laid on the hard hospital bed that hurt my back so bad
I remember walking out the last steps, no more monitors or injections, free as a bird in the sky
