by Lunna Raven

I’m in bed, the night is deadly silent, except for the crickets and the repetitive, soft sound of the fan.

I don’t feel a thing. Gradually I’ve developed apathy for almost everything, nothing moves me.

What have I become? I wonder if this is worse than the storm of feeling everything too deeply. My face is inexpressive, or so I’ve been told. I spend too much time inside my head, and nearly none inside my body.