Lily is curled tight in bed and awakens from a dream. She unspools her limbs while easing her feet to the floor.
Shards of images infuse her head, but she does not recall the dream of flight. She does not recall her joy. The clock says three.
The coldness of the tiles awaken her that much more. She pulls her robe onto her shoulders and walks to a door.
Lily sits at the table and gazes at the lights. They lie just beyond her reflection and appease her.
She sips the milk she has warmed, like many nights before, with hope of easing back to sleep and to the dreams she does not recall.
