Noticing.Twenty-Five

She cries at midnight. My feet are on the floor before I’m actually awake despite not having to go to her in the middle of the night for months. I wonder if that training ever fades. I mistake the sound of summer breeze in leaves for rain several times as I lay in bed. That’s how long it’s been since I’ve heard that sound outside my window. “I’m grieved over the desert my fiction world has become, how dark its skies. I feel like part of me is broken or paralyzed–numb but visible, a reminder...