That torn, faded blue bedsheet is still there, longing for someone else’s touch. She was lying on it when I reached.
I sat beside her. She smiled with her remaining four teeth when she saw me.
One.
Two.
Three.
I counted the wrinkles on her cheeks. Every wrinkle welcomed me. Like a thousand vertical smiles.
“Do you recognise me?” I asked.
She just smiled.
“Do you recognise me?” I asked again, thinking she hadn’t heard me.
She smiled again and said she was about to have some tea, carefully evading my question.
Her memories have wrinkled, too.
And just like that, I ceased to exist in her world.
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