She passed the mirror
without looking. It had
become a habit — the
way some people avoid
certain streets. The face
there had stopped feeling
like hers somewhere
between the late shifts
and the unanswered
messages. She sat on the
edge of the bed and
pressed her palms into
her knees, waiting for
the feeling to arrive.
It didn't. But the room
stayed quiet, and for
the first time that day,
no one was asking
anything of her. That
was something. Not
healing, exactly. But
close enough to rest in.