Willow.
The night was too quiet. One of those slow and weightless ones where your mind refuses to shut the hell up no matter how tightly you shut your eyes, no matter how many times you flip the pillow to find the cooler side.
And I’ve been here before not in this exact room with old wooden walls and soft moonlight seeping through the cracked edge of the windowpane but in this ache. This tight chested stillness that comes when the world finally lets you breathe for one f*****g second and suddenly you remember that nothing has really changed.
That being wounded and sleeping on someone else’s mattress doesn’t mean the war is over. It just means the battle has been paused. And that’s almost worse because it gives you time to think. And thinking is always dangerous.
I blinked slowly int
