The absence of little voices, it used to feel like a held breath, a waiting for the next eruption, betraying the raw edge of my fatigue. Now it just expands, a slow unfurling in my shoulders, a deep knowing that the world isn't about to demand more, just… offer. That "impossible ease" isn't some distant prize, it’s this exact beat, the cold coffee, this acceptance that some things aren't broken, just shaped differently by love. The dull throb across my chest where his small head rested, it's a lingering truth, not a burden.