still life

i keep a teacup with a cracked rim— it doesn’t hold warmth for long but i drink from it anyway. the hallway light flickers like it’s unsure if it wants to stay on. some nights, i understand. there’s a coat in the closet that no one wears, but i leave it hanging. the walls don’t echo when i speak softly. so i don’t. not anymore. i fold myself into the quiet corners of things— pillows, playlists, people who ask how i’m doing but not why.