Could not get out of bed easily, fatigued without knowing why. There is a hollowness in my chest; not empty but filled with a ghostly pain, an inability to breathe. Taking aspirin is but one clue to fear, of age.
It is not despair, I have yet to calm.
Last night was the Full Hunger Moon; the Full Snow Moon, depending. We slept in its light, crawling across our sheets as it stretched. February is haunted with chills, always seeming to be elsewhere, even when it approaches.
Look what your wind has made of me.
We must travel soon. The morning, lying in bed, remembering when a glass of water would help me. Now it is only a prayer passing near, an asking of the universe.
Please, let this work.