broken crayons

white-ii

and today, when i took you to the hospital for the first of the many weekly visits that lay ahead of us, i could tell you hated it already.

you were so quiet, it scared me.

the doctors explained to me how you didn't lose just a part of your brain in that accident, but your past, your memories along with it.
they told me you'd never be the same again.

that you were a child for the second time in your life, and i thought of how much we all want to be children once we grow up.

but not like this.
not like this.

i watched you sit there with your hands folded tight on your laps,

eyes fixed on your feet.

then I asked them, "if you would suggest any new medici-"

and i wish you would've at least let me complete the sentence.

but before anyone could realize what was going on, you started slapping me. on the face. so hard, it felt like running into a fast-moving bus.
on and on and
on and on.

i couldn't understand why.
but i realized, that neither could you. and that's why i didn't ask.

and so, as you did all that you could with those withering white hands to hurt me, i just sat there patiently,
counting the tiles.

but even after the 1024th,
you were still slapping.