The Ceiling at 2 AM

She had been lying in the dark for forty minutes, eyes open, watching nothing.

The ceiling didn't have answers. She wasn't looking for any, not really. She was just done — done with the day, done with the effort of seeming fine, done with the quiet performance of being okay.

Somewhere outside, a car passed. Its headlights swept across the wall like a slow breath, and then it was dark again.

She pulled the blanket a little tighter. Not because she was cold.

Just because it was something she could do.