Only when it’s half past one, the sun long gone, does she seek the silence. Craves it, actually, to the point of desperation.

Being her own companion as she unwillingly sifts through the darkest recesses of her mind doesn’t appeal to her. No, not at all.

But that’s all she can do as she feels the coolness of the mattress seep into her bones and inside her very soul. She is left fervent, wanting what she cannot have, what she will never have.

With eyes wide open, hair strewn about her satin pillowcase, she suffers from the silence. The silence only she knows.