She feels rejuvenated, like she has been reborn. The white cotton bedspread is a mess, but the woman lying on it glows with contentment. Her bee-stung lips are pursed open, welcoming a venture that never comes. Cautiously, her eyes flutter open. She is still overcome by drowsiness. Her hand reaches out tentatively, a pioneer in an unknown land. Yet she is rewarded with nothing.

Realisation jolts her to her senses. She's shocked sober from her drunken stupor of illusions. Reality hits her, cold and hard, forcefully dragging her out of the lull of sleep.

She is confused.

The only thing she knows how to do is weep.

"Is it even possible for me to feel happiness?"

Her statement hangs in the air, forever unanswered.

She makes her way down the stairs, stumbling through her tears. Funny, she thinks, I can't feel anything but the tears just come.