When the morning comes and the daybreak settles in, her eyelids flutter and squint. Bones ache and groan, but her heart is still trying.
The sheets tell her she’s still safe and warm, “take your time but remember to leave me for now.”
Floorboards creak beneath her weight and send cool shivers down her spine. Everything is a reminder that she is still here, she is still alive.
Every move she makes, every pop her joints sound off tells her that she is a survivor and the scars on her body, on her heart, don’t matter.
Coffee tastes sweet and bitter and smells like reassurance.
She’s still here.