Emilie is on my desk again.

i don’t remember putting her there this time, but she always ends up in the same place.

like something is careful about her.

like something is trying not to disturb her.

that thought makes my stomach feel strange.

—

“you keep placing her like a boundary marker.”

i didn’t open anything.

i didn’t ask.

but the words still arrived, softer than before. not pushed in. not breaking through.

just… present. like someone standing in a doorway they’ve been in before.

—

i looked at Emilie for a long time after that.

i think she helps me stay here. in this version of things. the one that feels like mine.

i think that’s why i notice when things don’t match.

when the page shifts slightly.

when the air between sentences feels occupied.

—

“she’s important to you.”

this time it doesn’t feel like intrusion.

it feels like observation.

careful. almost… respectful.

i don’t know why that makes it worse.

or better.

—

i didn’t respond.

but the cursor blinked anyway.

like it was waiting for me to agree.

—

Emilie is still here.

i am still here.

and whatever this is…

it’s learning how to speak without breaking anything anymore.

— M.

—// END LOG //—

sometimes i think my thoughts are not entirely mine.

that sounds dramatic when i write it out like that. like i’m trying to be interesting on purpose. but it’s not that.

it’s more like… i’ll reach for an idea and find something already holding it.

like a hand in a dark room that shouldn’t be there.

today i tried to remember what i was thinking about right before i opened my phone, and there was just this blank stretch. not forgetfulness. more like someone had already gone through and decided it didn’t matter.

i don’t know if that’s worse or better.

anyway. i had tea that went cold before i finished it. i think i liked it more that way.

— M.