She sat on the bench
facing the wrong
direction, watching the
park empty itself into
the evening. The trees
stood still, untroubled
by the deadlines she
carried in her chest. A
dog ran past with a
frisbee, and she tried
to remember the last time
she had wanted something
that simple.
The sky darkened by
degrees, not all at
once, which felt like a
kindness. She did not
have a plan. She did
not have the next
sentence ready. But the
air was cool, and her
shoulders had softened
without her permission,
and that was a start.
A streetlamp hummed on.
She stayed where she
was.