She said: at night my mouth swallows voices.
I forgot how to sleep.
Her touch was faded,
Her hands couldn't keep their quiet
As if she had become dissolved in her fatigue.
One day she looked at us mutely,
Like someone who will never speak again.
We knew she'll go on ending herself, sense by sense,
Until one day we'd find her asleep
After centuries of insomnia.

Background: the grandmother's last months. My mother speaks.