Take It #4

If it were night, day would eventually break. If it were a dream, morning would soon stir her from sleep.

 It was neither night nor a dream. The darkness was thick, almost physical, and it bore down on her like a cross. it enveloped her and burrowed inside with its obsidian claws. She had read somewhere that a joy shared is doubled, and a sorrow, halved. But the pain was hers and she was selfish.

She longed for reprieve. She couldn't understand how a small heart could feel so unbearably heavy in her core. How it could love gravity so. Love. The crusty mold that taints corrupts peace.

So very tired. She closed her inward eye and lay her pen down on the paper on which it had been venting. She had prayed for peace before she wrote, but it seemed the gods deemed her worthy only of temporary and conditional catharsis...