She goes to bed at about seven, to not have to be awake.
.
.

It only takes one sun to make day. In her town there are two. Half of the year they go hand in hand. The other half they take turns; one appears as the other goes away.

By then she finds it difficult to go to bed at about seven, to not have to be awake. She fears summer this time of year. Bites her tongue, till it’s sore.