She lay in her bed, staring at the static fan above her, throwing shadows on the wall. There was a book lying upside down next to her, with creamy off-white pages folded and scribbled on. The walls wore memories in cherry and bottle green frames.

A mahogany brown acoustic lay still against the corner, but she could hear music....not of the patter of the rain, not of trees swaying in the wind, not of tiptoeing love, not the thud of grief. It was the music of a soft breeze traveling through the room, carrying with it moments from the last twenty years. The crackle of laughter, the twinkle of excitement in sparkling eyes, those simple words that just stayed with you for unexplainable reasons, the song that kept ringing in your head, that lonely tear that found a way to trickle down no matter how hard held back.

She wasn’t trying to reflect back in time or echo through feelings from the past. Her finger moved in circles twirling a dark brown lock of hair around it. Her mind was devoid of any thoughts, very unlike her. But everybody needs a break.

It was an alienating feeling. Like a drugged happy numbness, where the walls are just painted deep red, and burnt auburn blotches just blend in, over powered by the background.

Her eyelids felt heavier, and she closed her eyes, being engulfed by the nostalgic fragments of life floating about. There was a peculiar feeling of contentment in her heart, as she bid goodnight to all that was, in waiting of morning, and all that will be....