A white hair tie bound around each wrist

The residue of charcoal mascara smeared onto her fingers

She will watch the night turn grey and blue against her windowpane

Her hair sprawled across her pillow and her neck and her face

A glass of water sits, half empty, on her nightstand

The last traces of her soft pink nail polish chipped off onto the floor

She pulls her blanket to her and against the sheets she pushes with her breath

Her legs stretched open and her arms crushed to her chest

A mirror reflects moonlight from its frame on the wall

The fading scent of her lavender perfume lingers on her clothes

She closed her eyes and opened them again as her lashes bushed against her pillow

Her eyes more adjusted to the darkness then her dreams

A cricket plays his music in constant rhythm somewhere beyond her white washed walls

The enduring softness of her lotion still sheathes her skin in moisture

She won’t move to ease the ache of the bed against her body

Her mind on more important things then comfort or appearance or sleep