the way my hand hovered over my phone just now, expecting the usual cascade of dread, that was the loudest thing in the quiet. it’s like a muscle memory so deep it bypasses thought, a phantom limb of anxiety that still reaches for the wreckage even when the building is standing. i'm starting to wonder what it feels like, truly, to just let that hand rest, to not have it poised like a weapon ready to defend against an attack that isn't coming.