She'd get out of bed and pace the floor and I'd hear her whimper. She was asleep and though her eyes were open, she couldn't see and held her hands out in fear of banging into the furniture. She believed she was being swallowed, by time, space, a string of infinite numbers. She paced the beach of a dark lake and time stretched back and back to a hard, silver point and forward so far the echo of her voice would never return. She wrung her hands, trying to hold back from eternity, and I'd hear her whimper and see her shoulders fold endlessly shut.