She stood in front of
the mirror longer than
she meant to. The person
looking back seemed
familiar in the way old
photographs do — someone
she used to know but had
stopped checking in on.
The room was quiet except
for the refrigerator
humming through the wall,
a small mechanical
heartbeat in the dark.
She touched her own
shoulder, not for
comfort, but to remember
where she ended and the
night began. It was
enough, she decided, to
simply be there. Not
better. Not fixed. Just
present, in the soft
blue dark, breathing.