[ WP ] Your amnesia is continuing to develop .

Damn it why ca n't I remember anything? Where was I yesterday? Was there anything important that happened? Probably not? The days all blend together after a while anyway. Same stuff over and over again. But something's wrong today. I ca n't even recall if I did any writing. That's my favorite part of the day. I walk over to my journal. The last entry was four years ago. What? That's impossible. I wrote after making love to Sandy. I watched her breathing slowly. There's a poem in here. She'll know. Sandy always knows. 
 
 I step out of the room and call out for her. 
 
 `` Philip? I just went to check on something.'' A voice calls back. An older lady steps into the hallway. Scrubs? Why is a nurse in my house? I ask her where Sandy is. 
 
 `` Philip, I think it would be best if you went back to bed.'' She says. I run back into the room. No way. Where's Sandy? I hide in the closet and keep the door cracked open. The nurse walks in and looks around. She spots me. 
 
 I need to hide, but there's nowhere to go. I'm trapped. 
 
 `` Philip. Come on out. Let me read you the last entry of that journal you're holding.'' She says. I did n't even read it. Maybe it will tell me where Sandy is. I walk out and hand the journal to the nurse. She gestures to the bed and I sit down. She flips to a page effortlessly and begins: 
 
 `` Philip Terrance. You're losing your memory. You've already begun to forget what day it is. Soon you'll probably forget who people are, who you are. Who knows? Maybe you'll forget what language is. Revert back to a speechless child. Then you wo n't remember how to read this and someone will read it to you and maybe you wo n't know what they're saying. But I love you.'' The nurse closes the book. I do n't understand. She smiles and puts her hand on mine. 
 
 `` I wrote that. Many years ago, when you started developing amnesia.'' She says. But that's my journal. 
 
 `` This is n't your journal. It's mine. You never wrote, but you admired me for keeping a journal.'' What? No. I remember writing. Do n't I? She grasps my hand tighter. 
 
 `` You do n't remember any specifics to writing do you? Just a general memory? That's because you're remembering a bit wrong. I'm your wife Sandy and you're Philip. We've been married for 30 years. And you have amnesia.'' It must be hard for her to say this to me. 
 
 Then, a stranger is holding my hand. She's holding a book and smiling at me. Where's Sandy?
