It'd difficult to sleep on my own,
to live in such close proximity
to the dying,
makes you adopt their hours.
Nights are late,
mornings start slowly.
Afternoons are long and glorious.
It's late now.
The fire settles in it's box,
a log settles into the ashes...
This is how our days go,
burning slowly to an end.
and yet our end,
like the fire in the box,
gives something greater than the sum of ourselves...