a reminder: sunbeams find andrew every morning in bed. he no longer abruptly sits up, rapidly blinks, and scans the shadows in his room. instead, he sinks deeper into the sheets, blankets wrapped around him and his arm wrapped around another pillow. he feels the steady weight of honesty and trust and always pressed against his palm, a promise that isn’t just lip service. his bones aren’t tired of the body they’re in, nor are intrusive thoughts slamming against the solid confines of his skull like plaster. he doesn’t open his eyes, but if he did, he’d be met with slate-eyes and a soft smile, copper curls and patchwork skin.
stay, his mind whispers–soft, unbidden, assured. the word doesn’t taste like desperation, only certainty.