writing

Running on Empty

Her frozen stare sees nothing but space. No focus, no confusion, only emptiness. Her chest hurts, but she doesn’t know why.

She’s drained, although she’s freshly back from vacation. A week away should have left her rested, ready to dive back in.

The chest pain fades by the day as she busies herself, consumed by work, but returns at night. No scars, no trauma. Just pain, as if someone has ripped it out.

Her creativity is hindered; she finds it hard to work on photos, or crafts, or even write these days. Nothing good comes when it is forced.

She looks inward. No tragedy, no heartbreak of which she knows. Her husband holds her hand after they climb into bed. Her cats climb up and cuddle.

Finally she succumbs to sleep. Hopefully, tomorrow will be different.

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