She brushes her hair,
Before going to bed.
Takes the mask,
From upon her face.

She lines her pillows,
Perfectly inline.
Resting her head,
And her aching bones.

She thinks about her day,
Falling asleep.
She buries her head,
Deep in her pillows.

Thunderstorms and rain,
Wind and sun.
And she’s still alive,
All of these years later.

And why is she still alive?
Because the universe is her friend.
Her only friend?
Maybe.