I Watch the Flicker

I sit. I think I’ve been sitting a long time.

The chair is soft. Or maybe it’s not.

I’m not sure where my legs went.

There’s a light on the wall. It changes.

People move in it.

They smile too wide.

Their mouths don’t match their words.

I don’t know what they want.

Beside me, a woman mumbles into her lap.

She could be my sister.

Or my daughter.

Or a mirror.

I blink.

It’s still Tuesday.

Or Wednesday.

I think I had soup.

Something is funny. The man laughs.

I laugh too, just in case.

It feels right.

Or it used to.

I see a beach on the screen.

The waves know my name.

I want to go there.

I think I already did.

Maybe I never left.

A nurse touches my arm.

She says “sweetheart.”

I like that word.

She smells like lemons. Or clouds.

I want to ask her something…

But the thought floats away—

gone before I can catch it.

Like the others.

So many others.

I turn back to the flicker.

It’s still there.

Still glowing.

I wait for something to begin.

It already has.

Or maybe it never will.