The ceiling fan turned
too slowly to cool
anything. She lay with
one arm across her eyes,
not sleeping, not quite
awake — just existing in
the narrow space between
exhausted and unable to
rest. Her ribs felt full
of static, as if her
body were broadcasting
every worry she had tried
to mute during the day.
She did not get up. She
did not fix it. She
only breathed, slow and
deliberate, until the
static dimmed from a
scream to a hum. It was
not peace. But it was
enough to stay in bed
until morning.