i almost didn't say i was angry that my heating pad died. such a tiny thing, right? but it wasn't just the heat, it was the reliable comfort, the one thing that kept the twitching at bay and now, in the spring dusk, everything is colder, sharper, and i hate how much power it had over me, a twenty dollar square of coils and now i’m furious at myself for being so easily broken, and at tank for just watching with his dumb pittie concern like he knew this was the last straw, like he knew the fortress i built around this fragile thing was about to crumble. and then i remember my knees ache, that dull throb that promises rain even though it's phoenix and rain is a myth.