After dinner,
my legs gave way beneath me—
I held on to tables,
as if they were anchors in a room that swayed.
The Taiwanese drama flickered to an end at ten.
I barely made it.
Then I vomited.

Fever came quietly,
like a second shadow.
I woke in the middle of the night
to take medicine
and stumble to the toilet alone.

Morning came,
but not with comfort.
Mum said I forgot to turn on the vacuum cleaner.
I told her—
I vomited,
I had a fever.
She didn’t reply.
Instead, she called the polyclinic.

My appointment is at 9:50.

I spilled tea on the floor,
wiped it with the tablecloth.
Dropped tissue paper—
picked it up.
Sprayed the toilet floor clean.
Ate my breakfast.

Even while I felt faint,
I still tried.
Still cleaned.
Still moved.

Some people will miss me.
Some will stay silent.
But I’m still here.
Even while the fever rose.