The cold breeze pricked her cheeks, making her shiver with pain. Reality is harsh. Sleep is a sweet escape. But the wind would not let her sleep. Like the snooze of an alarm it was constantly nagging her. She wanted to smack it hard on the ground and laugh at the shattered pieces. Atleast, she would not remain the only broken thing in the room. She had even started to enjoy the foolish thought, but the next icy blow slapped her hard, as if wreaking the vengeance.
She wanted to sleep. She was tired. It was a long day. A long hard day and she was tired, tired of doing nothing. She wanted to sleep. She had wanted to sleep the whole day, but sleep would just not listen. It seemed to her that sleep was sleeping herself. Was she too tired? Was she too in pain? If so, she would relieve her of it. She would caress her in a warm embrace and tell her that she was not alone. She would plant a light kiss on her forehead and fill her voids. She would even sing to her a lullaby in the same sweet voice she could hear now. Yes, exactly like this, this calm angelic voice. But, but whose is it? Whose hands are caressing her forehead? Who is snuggling her in this warm embrace? Whose baby is she becoming? She cannot see, her eyes are getting heavier, everything is getting fade fader…