This time.

Sabrin Salim, 2T5 PB

I journal when I have the time. It helps me spill my thoughts, my feelings onto a page. 

It makes my emotions and narratives tangible. Like things I can hold, I can smudge, erase, rewrite. 

I have always felt something, until I didn’t. 

This time, I have no feeling. These days, I have none. 

I wake up. I have no time. I run to the hospital. I have no time. I see people and write notes. I have no time. I snack. I have no time. I see my patient. I have no time. I see the next one. I have no time. I stop. I have no time. 

Again. The next day.

I wake up. I have no time. I run to the hospital. I have no time. I see people and write notes. I have no time. I see my patient, she’s weak. I have no time. I see the next one. I have no time. 

And again, the next day. 

This time, she’s delirious. I see the next patient. I have no time. 

And again, the next day. 

This time, she’s coughing, she can’t breathe. I see the next patient. I have no time. 

And again, the next day. 

This time, she’s lifeless. 

This time, she has no time. 

I look in the mirror and wonder, why can’t I feel something? 

I go home. I try to write. This time, I have no words. 

Maybe it will come to me. Maybe I’m tired. Maybe I just need to sleep. 

Again, the next day. 

I wake up. I have no time. I run to the hospital. I have no time. I see people and write notes. I have no time. I snack. I have no time. I see a new patient. I have no time. I see the next one. I have no time. I stop. I have no time. 

And the day after, and the day after and the day after. 

When will I have time? 

As I am about to lay in bed, this time, I cry. 

This time, my sadness has made time. I feel every inch of everything I could have felt. Anger, sadness, worry, hope -  grief. I wish I could share this with her family, her friends, the people who filled her time. I wish I stayed longer. 

I 

While short, I existed in her time. She existed in mine. 

This time. Is the only time.