WREN
I woke up expecting the ache to still be there.
That was usually how it worked, you tell yourself something firmly enough the night before, you make your declarations standing alone in a dark kitchen with your hands resting on the counter, and then morning comes and your chest reminds you that promises made at midnight rarely hold up against daylight.
I lay there for a moment with my eyes still closed, braced for it. Waiting to feel the same hollow thing I'd felt standing over that cup of water I never drank. It wasn't there.
I actually opened my eyes properly to check, like the feeling might be hiding somewhere I hadn't looked yet. But no, I just felt normal. Tired, a little stiff from sleeping wrong, but normal. Whatever had cracked open the night before had apparently sealed i
