Some days you feel like you have nothing left. You're running on empty; the music has stopped; the curtains fallen. 

And sometimes this state does not lift. The dust settles inches thick in the room of your soul. Everything has become varying shades of grey. 

You hope, winsomely, that light will be let in. Can someone open the door, throw open the windows? Can someone start the music, turn on the stage lights? You know it can be done. It has been done before. 

I'm tired of the stage lights and the show. To be honest. I'm not sure if I want that restored. 

I want to dust up this room. Grease the squeaky windows, push them wide. Bring in some cut flowers. If I have to cry, can't it be in a clean room that smells sweet?