Morning came slowly, like light dragging across heavy drapes. I blinked awake to the smell of coffee and the low, familiar sound of Liz humming off-key from the kitchen. Something old and familiar stirred in my chest—a comfort, maybe. Or just a reminder that I'd made it through another night.
My body felt strangely loose, like I'd run a marathon in my sleep. Not sore. Just emptied out. Light and heavy at the same time.
I pulled on a sweatshirt and wandered out barefoot, rubbing at one eye. Liz was already dressed, perched on the counter in her favourite jeans and a button-up shirt.. She looked up from her phone when she saw me.
"Good morning, sulky poet," she said with a grin.
I grunted in response and reached for the coffee pot. She handed me a mug without a word—black, just the way I liked it these days—and didn't even comment on the state of my hair. That's how I knew she loved me.
I took a long sip, letting the warmth anchor me.
Then I glanced at the living room.
