I Went to Return My Neighbor’s Pliers – When He Opened the Door, My Legs Gave Out and I Shouted, ‘What Does It All Mean?!’

And I was tired of pretending that didn’t mean something.

The apartment greeted me in silence. I flipped the bedroom light switch, then changed my mind and turned it off again.

The darkness felt more honest.

As I crawled into bed, I stared at the ceiling, covers barely pulled up, the water glass still on the bedside table from three nights ago.

My phone lit up with a text:

“Flight’s delayed again.

I’ll keep you posted.”

That was it. I held the phone for a second, then put it face down.

“I don’t think I know how to come back from this,” I whispered out loud.

The room didn’t answer. But I could hear Jake’s voice from earlier:

“Because no one should have to come back to themselves…

alone.”

I pressed my hand to my chest. Just to feel it — the ache, the beat, the stubbornness of it still trying. And then I said it again.

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