Finally She Sleeps

If I were to be buried, I’d like those words on my headstone. Most nights sleep eludes me. I long to sleep for eight hours, but can’t remember when that last happened. My brain is wired to never shut down.

I don’t expect I’ll have a headstone because I want my ashes to be scattered somewhere beautiful, maybe on a hillside below Ravello, overlooking the Mediterranean? After all the memory of me should be in the hearts of those who love me and not imprisoned in one place. If anyone were to write anything to memorialize my death, let not them write, Finally She Sleeps.