“If only I could have water.”

Thin sheets pulled over her eyes --

Raging sunlight burning their soft membranes.

No more tears to wash her face.

She tried moving her hand, futile.

Focusing on the tale unfolding around her,

It was a story she was no longer interested in.

Fresh sunrise glazed her vision with white light,

Purity.

She ascended her pain.

“How long have I drifted through this purity?” –

“How long has he been there?”

She wanted to question her visitor,

But no medium for communication.

Her name echoed,

No discernible tone.

Her response came intuitively:

“Am I dead?”