There was a small mirror
above her dresser that
she used to glance at
three times before leaving
the room. Tonight she
let the hair stay where
it fell. Tonight she
wore the tired face
without smoothing it into
something acceptable.
The bedroom was quiet in
a way that didn't ask
her to perform anything.
Even the streetlight
through the curtain looked
softer than usual, as if
it had decided not to
comment.
She sat on the edge of
the bed and didn't open
her phone. She didn't
list the things she
should have done. For a
few minutes she was only
the version of herself
that existed when no
one, including her, was
watching.