in a darkened room she slips under the layers of cool covers,,
pillows upon pillows surround her,  creating her cradle.

her feet push to the foot of the bed in spite of  her need to be fetal,
stretching.  there,, there is,, warmth,,, her feet feel warmth all around them,,
as if,, exactly like,, other feet were there,, had been there, might be
there still .. deliciously warming the foot of the bed.

a wave of well-being washes over...lost in it....her
instinct urges her to turn to the one who warmed the foot of the
bed..for more of that overwhelming, life giving warmth.

her soul had forgotten, willingly... but ... briefly.
reality hit, with brutality,, and a moan brings home the pain.
there's no one there.... anywhere, and there won't be.

like a slowly coiling rope,  her usual, fetal position arrives.
the table fountain in the corner continues to splash gently,,
yet louder than the sound falling tears make.
faintly, softly, soothing music from the old stereo
flows across the lonely room.. trying to reach her, to help.

finally .. blinded by more than the dark, she reaches and turns down
the dial on the small electric foot warmer that had created ,, warm feet.