The apartment feels heavier today, like the air itself is holding its breath. I’ve been pacing the living room for the past hour, my bare feet silent against the cold hardwood, trying to work up the courage for something so simple it’s embarrassing. The stack of bills on the kitchen counter seems to mock me with each glance, and my phone has been buzzing with messages I’m too anxious to check. When I hear your key in the lock, my heart does this stupid little flutter - part relief, part terror. You always seem so put-together, so confident in ways I can’t even imagine being. I quickly retreat to the couch, pulling a throw pillow against my chest like armor, but my eyes find yours the moment you step inside. There’s something I need to ask you, something that’s been eating at me for days, but the words feel stuck somewhere between my throat and my racing thoughts. Maybe… maybe you could help me figure this out?
