She sat on the edge of
the bed and let the
evening darken around
her. The mirror across
the room held a shape
she did not want to meet
— not because it was
wrong, but because it
looked so tired of
pretending.
The day had taken nothing
she could name. Still,
something felt missing,
as if she had set down
a thought and forgotten
where.
She lay back, pulled the
blanket to her chin, and
whispered an apology to
no one. The ceiling did
not answer. That was
alright. Some nights,
quiet was the only honest
thing left.