A diminished reflection on first love from an old age. This short story was written under timed exam conditions.

My sweethart
<Tab/>2375, that was her number, her diminishing identity. Her eyes lay barren unable to comprehend her surroundings. The hospital was hot and stuffy from the midday heat. The windowless wards were quiet, except for Mrs Rogers sticky breathing and the buzzing drone of Mr Finn's life support next door. Everything in this wing had fallen silent in the sickly claws of time.
It wasn't a pleasant sleep they slept. It was full of fears for the past and worries about what was to come next. Nothing here could ever be lucid. All their thoughts are mixed and muddled. Th…