Allowing Rest

She did not allow herself to rest, not yet. She could feel herself getting close to the Answer. She strained, reaching across her bedroom floor—the desk had grown too crowded, sagging under the weight of stacked tomes and hundreds of loose papers—and awkwardly grabbed an unorderly pile of papers, almost toppling a nearby stack of books in the process. She filed through the loose stack of pages—some upside-down, sideways, or folded in half—looking for one in particular. She reached the end and set down the papers. Where had she put it? She lifted her mug and tried taking a sip of coffee, but found it empty. She set it back down with the others, then scanned the clutter of her bedroom carpet, looking that page—or trying to remember where she’d left it. She didn’t spot it, nor did she recall where it had last been. She had been so close. She could already feel the thoughts slipping through the cracks. She sighed, exhausted, and allowed herself to collapse.

- Lily