For the first time in a long time I woke up happy. I made breakfast, and the heat from the griddle was enough to warm me from the inside out. The light bounced from the window to the backsplash beside me, casting glaring light in all directions. 

The house is quiet, and for some reason, I don’t reach to turn on music how I normally would. Instead, I just stand, letting the occasional scrape of the pancake turner against the griddle lay in the air until it falls silent again. The air is heavy enough to hold it for ages.

My body feels still, almost like it’s treading water against the area between the counter to the stove and back to the refrigerator. It’s keeping me grounded, I’m normally not still. The cells making up my skin have stopped bouncing off one another, and have stopped vibrating with every emotion all at once. 

Today feels like a goodbye. One that I have been waiting on forever. This breakfast is a last meal, a trip to the farmers market a celebration of life. I would say that it was sad, but I’ve been crying over it for way too long. The quiet, the still, is good. It can stay, at least for now.