i noticed the way the steam curled up from my black coffee, not quite dissipating, just hanging there, a shimmering almost-veil, and it reminded me of that instant, that fraction of a second when the words almost didn’t come out right, the polite, easy answer that usually just slides off my tongue, because the question, the casual concern, it caught something in my chest, a fleeting tightening, a quick, sharp reminder of how readily that mask used to fuse itself to my skin, how the muscles in my cheeks would ache with the effort of holding it there, how a simple 'are you okay?' used to be a landmine, a trigger for a frantic scramble to re-secure the edges, to make sure no real feeling bled through, but today, that tightening, it just… loosened, almost immediately, like a knot untying itself without any conscious command from me, leaving behind only the faintest echo of its presence, a phantom sensation that vanished as quickly as the steam from my mug, out into the vast, bright summer light that filters through the corporate windows, and it’s not that the memory isn’t there, the instinct to guard, the ghost of that deep, guttural roar in my car, but it doesn’t hold the same grip, it’s just a ripple, a whisper carried on the air, and it doesn't demand anything from me anymore, not even an explanation to myself, just a soft awareness that i am standing here, watching the steam, breathing.