the sunlight on the wine glass made it look like there were tiny embers inside, that kind of fragile beauty that makes you want to weep. almost texted them. typed it out. stared at it. deleted it. that's progress, right? jade will be so fucking proud. The urge to reach out is a phantom limb sometimes. I still feel the shape of the conversation, the weight of the unspoken words, even when the connection is gone. Letting the message fade is a muscle, definitely getting stronger.