The raven called my name. I heard it distinctly as it perched on my windowsill this morning. His form shown in shallow lace curtains, flowing from a breezy thunderstorm underscored his message.

Of course if I had a choice, and this drain of fluid to and from my body was not a painful chain of repetition, at once mending and depleting, I might say “away with you, raven!” But I cannot.

I still listen to the chime of my heart, and the movement of my chest as I breathe in and out. The weight of pain not ceasing draws me to the raven’s message, “it’s time” and if I was strong enough, or even able, I would agree and vote with him.