Grey, toneless clouds cover the sky today. The same way they have for the past week. But still I sit at the window, for it’s all I can see of the outside. No one lets me leave anymore. I can’t remember why. I think it might be because my family told them not to. Or maybe not. I can’t remember much of anything anymore. And what I do remember has no details. I remember I have a daughter… or is it two? What are their names? I have grandchildren… but how many?

So I sit at the window every day. Thinking. Remembering the same thing. Over and over again, because it’s all I can remember. 

I remember that summer. I think I was 16, maybe 17? I remember the days that stretched on forever. The dewdrops soaking our feet as we ran through the grass. I remember late nights, and bonfires, parties, people. I mostly remember people, but not their names. 

I remember one boy. I remember him chasing me through a field of flowers, tackling me. Showering me with red petals. 

“One flower for my beautiful little Azalea!” He said, laughing.  

He called me his little Azalea. Why? I couldn’t tell you. But I remember him saying it to me. Over and over. Whispering it in my ear like it was a precious secret. Oh I wish I could remember why. 

The memories fade. And I’m back to sitting in the plain room with the white walls, and the grey outside. A little bird sitting on the fence lets out a mournful cry. I think it too is mourning the loss of something precious.