The day tilted the way a table does when someone puts a knee against it—subtle, enough to roll a few marbles, not enough to make anyone stand up. I felt it from the moment I woke with the ribbon in my palm and a memory of doors dissolving behind my eyelids. The city had put on its steel; the sky wore the color of decisions. I made coffee that tasted like backbone and wrote my five lines before the kettle finished sighing.
1. I can hold my own breath without borrowing his.
2. A threat in an envelope is still only paper.
3. I am teaching my feet to stay; I am teaching my hands to leave.
4. He laughs like gravity remembering mercy.
5. I am choosing this. I am choosing me inside this.
I sent the photo. His reply arrived like a hinge that knew its job. Good. Six. Earlier. He liked subtrac
