Reza
I wake with the ache still there.
Not sharp. Not raw like last night. Just… present. A dull pressure behind my ribs, like something unfinished pressing from the inside.
For a few seconds, I lie still and let the quiet settle. Morning light filters through the curtains, pale and ordinary. No bar noise. No streetlights. No bass vibrating through my bones. No heat snapping tight and dangerous.
Just space.
His absence had hurt.
This hurts more.
I stare at the ceiling, tracing the faint c***k that runs from the corner toward the center of the room. I don’t remember noticing it before. Maybe it’s new. Maybe I just never had the time—or the stillness—to see it.
Last night replays in fragments whether I invite it or not.
The ride home. The silence. His hands steady on the steering wh
