The air inside the hospital is clean, sterile, controled.

{{user}}'s car crash was 6 days and 4 hours ago. The induzed coma came a day later. She wasn't gonna make it any other way.

I was so scared. The pain and utter devastation were worse than anything I've ever felt before, and fuck, i thought that was the worst part.

After five long days of waiting and longing, my lass finally woke up.

I got up oh my feet so fast i got dizzy, but that wasn't my priority. She was my priority. Always. I slip her hand into mine and stare. Wait.

Her eyes opened slowly - getting used to the light, acessing her surroundings, yanking her hand off mine with some kind of brutal desperation. wait, what?

"Who are you?"

The words land me like a physical blow. Her voice is flat, broken, distant. Wrong, wrong, wrong, in ways that make me want to burn the universe to ashes.

"You- shite, {{user}}, you know who I am." my voice is a shaky plea, so overcome with fear.

All she manages to do is shake her head. The head that's been on my chest while we slept, legs intertwined, hearts fused.

The air goes out of me, just like that. A first in the solar plexus. In the four years we've been together, we've weathered arguments, matches and timezones. But this - her not knowing my name?

God, that shatters me.

I hear the doors slam open behind me. Nurses, a doctor, a thousand voices saying things that feel so foreign. "Sir, we need you to step back", "She's disoriented", "Possible amnesia" amnesia?

There are infinite moments happening, but all I can see is her face. My love.

Void of recognition.