Sunlight is flirting with the floor, sweeping over the lines and mocking the hour and the trance she has settled into. It teases the dust into shape, making little rainbows of sparkles. Whispers of things past roll by, and the colored specks fall back down in a heap. There is hope, she thinks, half awake. She stretches, looks around, and sighs. What now?
You are not old yet, Silence whispers back. Give yourself some time to figure things out. She rolls over and closes her eyes. An unknown voice crawls into the folds and wakes ancient fears, making itself so present and pushing past the mundane. It breaks the calm: it shouts.
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Thank you for your words. They feed my words, hence everybody's happy.