122. The First DoorNova

Sleep is a place I no longer live.

It’s a thin country I visit in fragments; five minutes here, ten minutes there, before something sharp drags me back. Sometimes it’s sound. Sometimes it’s nothing at all, just the sudden certainty that I am not safe. That certainty blooms in my chest like a bruise being pressed.

Tonight, sleep comes in pieces again.

I wake up with my heart already sprinting, my mouth dry, my fingers clawed into the sheets like they can anchor me. ...