Sleep

Is that really it?
Is that all there is?
She sighed and sat down on the curb.
There had to be more; 
Was this some sort of joke? 
She was missing the beauty,
Missing the flavor,
The colors and sounds and the laughter of children; 
The happiness knocks on her door. 
Yet the darkness engulfed her, 
She had lost too much, 
Deep in a mire of stillness she waits. 
Regrets for things done and undone
And sorrows like a noose keep her bound. 

There has to be more. 
Is that all there is?
She whispered as she closed the door.
Taking a seat and closing her eyes
The haze embraced her and welcomed her home.