Rose.

There's a man in my room. I don't – I'm not quite sure why he's here. At least, I don't think I am, which is not quite the same thing, since my memory has apparently gone on a trip to la-la land.

He's sprawled out on a chair, hair messy, shifting every two seconds. Poor thing. He can't possibly be comfortable. He's far too tall to be in such a cramped position.

I turn the opposite way, not done looking around the white room. Suddenly, a woman appears in my field of vision. I gasp. She's quite beautiful, really, with long dark hair and big eyes. She looks kind of broken, though. Vulnerable, if you please.

It takes me another minute to realize that I've been staring at a mirror.

Feeling a tad embarrassed, I decide to stand up and give the place further inspection. There's a childish drawing on one of the walls, and a corkboard with notes stuck all over it. I edge towards it and begin to read.

Funny, everything is addressed to someone named Rose. I stop. Is this me? Am I Rose?

I may not know much about myself, but I know enough of the world to be certain that it is not normal for someone to be unsure of her own name.

I drop onto the too-large bed. Who am I? It's not a question to be answered with a word, with just the word Rose. Who am I? Do I like PB&J sandwiches? Am I a fan of old movies? What is my hobby? Did I have a mother? A father? Siblings?

My mind offers nothing but silence.

Who am I? And, perhaps more importantly, what kind of person am I? What are my values? Have I destroyed someone's life without knowing it? How is the world changed because of me?

Is it even changed? Have I made the faintest ripple in society?

I repress the unbearable urge to scream.

The man stirs, muttering something in his sleep. He must know me. If he loves me enough to sleep here, he knows me. Desperate, I go over to him and shake him awake, eyes pleading. "Please. Please, who am I? Tell me who I am!"

"Oh, Rose." He moans, bleary-eyed.

And I can see that he understands. I am not a word. I am Rose, but Rose could be a lot of things. "What is wrong with me?"

"You were in a car accident, sweetie. There's nothing wrong with you." He sighs. "Don't look so sad. You're perfect."

I'm suspicious. "Are you my brother?"

"No. Why do you ask?"

"Because that's the kind of thing a brother would say." I answer.

"Well, it's true." He says, rather defensively. "And I'm not your brother. I'm Dimitri."

There is sadness in his eyes when I don't recognize him. I apologize. He tells me not to worry about it.

"You're important, aren't you? You feel important." I inform him earnestly, trying to make him happier.

"I was important, once. A long time ago." He smiled ruefully. "Now I'm just Dimitri, the guy that likes cowboy novels."

"I'm sure you're very nice."

"Thank you."

We are silent, but, somehow, it's not uncomfortable. Either way, it doesn't matter, because it vanishes soon enough.

"Tell me about myself." I prompt.

Dimitri stares. "You used to call me Comrade. Don't ask me why, but you did. You hate waking up early in the morning, you're never on time, and you can always come up with witty remarks for the oddest situations, whether they're appropriate or not."

I nod, pleased. "Am I nice?"

"Well… you can be, when you want to. Like when you meet someone who admires you." I frown, and he notices. "It really depends on your mood. Everyone knows you have a heart of gold, though. And you're very loyal."

"Okay. Okay. What are my faults?"

"You're impatient, reckless, and you can be very disrespectful – you always speak up for what you believe in." Dimitri smiles fondly.

"I love you." I blurt, then flush. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that. It just… came to mind."

"Don't worry, Rosie, it's not exactly a secret." He takes my hand. "You've begun to remember early, today."

"This – this happens often?" I ask, horrified.

Dimitri nods somberly. "Every day."

The room spins, too quickly for my eyes to follow, though they try. Vaguely, I am aware that I am on the verge of fainting, right now. I feel nauseous. Dimitri takes me into his arms to stop me from falling.

"Rose? Rose?"

"I'm fine." I blink back tears. "I'm fine."

It's a thing to be sad about. A whole future, wasted. I have years ahead of me, but they are worth nothing when I keep forgetting my past. And my loved ones – my loved ones –

"Shh, shh, Rose. It's alright. Don't cry. Please don't cry, honey." Dimitri croons, bouncing me on his leg like I'm a child again. "Come on. You know I hate it when you cry."

I didn't, but I do now, and I obey. I wipe my face dry with my sleeve. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I understand."

"How are we supposed to be together, then?" I inquired. "If you love me and I love you but I can't remember?"

He looked down at the floor. "I don't – I don't think we were meant to be together, dearest, though God knows we've tried."

I break down into sobs at the awfulness of the whole situation. I love him. I love him. I may not have the faintest idea who he was to me before, but, damn it, I love him right now.

"How much time do we have? Until I forget again?"

"We have today." Dimitri says firmly.

I look at him. "Will you be here tomorrow?"

"I'll be here every single tomorrow there is." He promises.

"You deserve better than this." I whisper. "I know you should leave. I know you should. But…"

"But I'd be unhappy, then, and you don't want that, do you?"

I don't.

"I'm sorry."

He shakes his head, because he understands. "It's not your fault. It's not anybody's fault. It was just a car accident."

"Yeah, one that chained us to a hospital for the rest of our lives."

A shrug. "It could be worse."

"It could be better. Thousands of times better. You know it could."

Dimitri sighs. "Look, Rose, I know this isn't a good thing. I know it's not fair, not to either one of us. But I love you, and you love me, and that's the important part. It doesn't matter where we are, or what you can remember. Fuck time! We can live in the now."

And I agree, and I kiss him and do my best to act like I believe that everything is going to be alright. But, no matter what I do, I can't help but remember that the sad look in his eyes is eventually going to come back.