I finally have all my clothes how I want them.  I had them ordered by article of clothing; shirts, pants, shorts, etc.  But now they were organized by rainbow order color and looked a lot better.

I heave a long sigh, climbing into my bed, sitting Indian style.  I pull the dinner tray over me and plop my laptop on it.  I flip it open, the bright screen opening to reveal a five-year-old me with my missing teeth smiling with my mom.  My fingers tap on the middle of the computer, as I click open Instagram.  I contemplated my next move, wondering if this was a good idea or not. To search this guy up, and stalk his profile.

He was just so intriguing.  The random guy who brought in my medicine cart just wouldn't leave for the life of him.  He is something people would take pictures of.  For their album covers or to put on magazines.  With forest-green eyes and chocolate brown hair that reached just below his chin, that his fingers kept sweeping out of his eyes.  He was curious.  I wondered what he thought about or why he was in the hospital.  He didn’t seem sick.

I suck in a deep breath, click off Instagram, and close my laptop.  A small ringing begins through the room coming from the medicine cart.  I checked my watch to see it was already eight pm, so I got up and moved to the cart.  I scan down the cart to find the medicine for this hour.  Voxelotor--one out of one.  Hydroxyurea--one out of one.  Penicillin--two out of two.  I take out each pill one at a time, grabbing my nearby water and sipping them down with ease.  I climb out of bed and go over to my mini fridge and pull open the door.  Each applesauce is in neat little rows all labeled with their times and dates.  I pull one out and climb back into my bed.  I let out a yawn.

I eat the applesauce in silence, before tossing it in the trash and laying down.

Back here again.  Back in a hospital bed, in another fancy hospital.  Back to doctors who think they can fix me.  Back to the medication and probably the transfusions and the days and days of nothingness.