I can’t think. I’m in a hospital bed, filled with antibodies and gases and they’re fuzzing out my brain. I put myself here. i don’t even remember how…he’s here. But he isn’t. He’s standing looking at me with eyes that beg me to come into focus. He’s not here. Not holding my hand and stroking my hair and telling me every boring word the doctors may have already told me themselves. He’s just looking at me, wondering how I could land myself back in here, when I was so safe with him. I can’t bring myself to tell him, not now, it would come out in jumbled sentences all smushed together. I can’t. He needs to wait. He can’t wait. I’m falling back to sleep and I don’t know if I wanna see him when I wake up.