night time calls for sleep. heavy head on a pillow, she sighs. lights out for dreams. lights on for work. lights dimmed for everything in-between. the ins and outs of the day burn in her back as she stretches out in bed. a massage would do well now. silence of a room still not yet hers. diving straight for the clouds, always missing. sleep seems to have become a cavernous black. it's always too soon before the alarm rings.
still the sudden attacks of morose... so carefully hidden to be forgotten. she knows what they are now. emotions have reasons. she asks why. she answers. and then she moves. somedays the body seems restless for work, for motion and then suddenly catatonia. well, not really.
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