Sleep eluded me completely.
I sat with my back against the hard wood of the bed, and the room dim around me, nothing moving except the slow rhythm of my breathing now that I was a bit calm.
But the emotions remained. All of it from the dream. And it was why I couldn't go back to the room where I left her. Because I was still in the attic. I was still with that smaller version of her, still watching her cry in that silence.
I dragged a hand over my face.
The thing that kept nagging at me wasn’t the sadness of it, though there was plenty of that. It was how real it had felt. So real, and so specific. I could still clearly remember the texture of the mattress under her, the dust in the air, the way her toes kept hovering just above the floor. My mind didn’t make things up in that kind of
