Thumb in mouth, knees pulled to chest, back-and-forth, back-and-forth. The rhythm soothes something broken inside me. Two years. Maybe. Time's a slippery thing now. I hum fragments of songs I can't quite remember the words to. My vision swims and darkens around the edges, the world increasingly reduced to fuzzy shapes and light differences. They took my name. Gave me a number. But I can't remember the number now. Can't remember my name either. Just the rocking. Just the thumb. Just the ...