Is it scary to not remember? Or is it only terrifying to the people around you, those who know what you’ve forgotten, because you obviously don’t.

Does the lack of an ability to make memories mean I’m less human? Humans should be able to light up When something great happens, And despair when their life crumbles a little.

And I do. Or so I’ve been told. But I don’t remember. I know I used to, at least.

I remember being able to remember– If that makes any sense. I know what it feels like And I can understand what I’m missing.

It still feels like last summer. Literally. But I know it wasn’t yesterday when I went hiking with my friends, Coming home late because we had wanted to see the sunset.

The days in this hospital bed blend together, While I spend my time grasping at memories that are drifting away. I’m sure I’m still seventeen but the nurses tell me My nineteenth birthday was a month ago.

What if, when I’m old and tired, Sitting in a rocking chair and trying to make a list of things I’ve accomplished, I realize that my life doesn’t feel any longer than it did sixty years ago.

I’m scared. It is scary to not remember, Because your past acts like a jail Robbing you of a future.