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I lie alone in a dim room. Disquieting, atonal stillness turns my stomach. Volatile and unkempt; avoidance defined. Spirits lull me to sleep; their voices, fading further. Voices of comfort and containment. Only so many mornings remain. I simply need a place to call my
own; soft and soundless, warm and welcome. An empty home, hopeful and hollow. I am blankly and willfully waiting. We're all sinking slowly; falling unsteadily to meet the same end. Though I'm alone, I find rest and it is well.