My fingers are aching again, Carla,
deep throb that travels all the way to my soul.

It’s an old soul, Carla,
and a very tired one.

The pain is a dull echo
of decades spent without rest.
I look at my hands,
knuckles swollen, skin thin
and see the map of every year
I’ve pushed through.

I need to rest. I need to sleep, Carla.
Not the fitful, shallow kind,
but a true, deep slumber
that has evaded me
for what feels like an eternity.

Every fiber of my being,
from the tips of my aching fingers
to the core of my existence,
simply yearns for stillness.

I am so tired, Carla.
My soul is in pain,
and I just need to sleep.

The world can leave now, Carla
I have waited long enough for this solace.