Because it was 2:00 AM and she was haunted by someone else’s tragedy. She couldn’t imagine his pain but kept trying to, compulsively. And praying. Because she listened to beautiful songs– their vibrations sent shivers of sadness down her arms. All she wanted was to sing his sorrow, to begin the catharsis. The bloodletting, tuneful purging. Where was the melodious healing in the vaccuum of his grief? She finally turned off her dim lamp in exchange for the dampened darkness. Just to give her eyes a rest. She fell asleep to the rhythm of internal invocations of hope:
Let him be ok.
Let his suffering be less.
He has so much to give and his rejoicing will be revived.
His breathing will come more easily.
Will swell and pass.
Swell and pass.
And so she slept. Because it was 2:00 AM.