It happens everyday now. Rue stares at the wall, ears perked. Dog hears them. Whispers grow weekly, audible over my earplugs. I obsess over meaningless words. I wish with all my heart to be part of it. For long hours, I teeter on the edge between awake and asleep. Their words are impossible to replicate via speech or writing. It hurts to try and fail. Bedridden, on the third day, conversations materialize into coherent words. It speaks to me directly and commands me to document the messages and spread them. “His will be done. Love and Fear.” I cry.