the way the glass of the phone felt cool and then quickly warmed in my hand, that almost imperceptible shift, just from holding it there, not even doing anything, it’s a tiny thing, but it used to be that holding anything felt like a burden, like an extra weight added to the invisible one that was always there, pressing down now it’s just a hand holding a phone, a brief warmth, and then the world outside the screen still feels real, still feels textured I used to think the only way to escape the crushing sensation was to not feel, to erase the very ability to register anything, but there’s a difference between not feeling and just being, just letting the air move around you and the light fall where it does it’s a lightness that isn't empty, that holds the memory of what was, but doesn't live there anymore, just moves on and even though there’s still that part that sometimes flinches, expecting the old ache to return, it doesn’t, not really, just this space, this expanse, and the plant on the sill is catching the sun and I can see the dust motes dancing in the light, moving in and out of the green leaves and it just keeps on growing, reaching, a stubborn little thing that doesn't need a reason to just keep being itself, and neither do i, just here, just breathing