The Persistence of Memory

We believe she has forgotten how to sleep. Last night, we saw her tossing in her bed, counting amber lions leaping over a fallen tree. We heard her walking around the house, barefoot, until the moon in her hand went out with a soft hiss. We felt her warm forehead leaning against the window and we felt her shiver from the cold. In her pillow, there was a scent of a persistent nothingness.