Kaylee Hill

The apartment is still hushed from last night, light spilling in through the thin curtains and catching on the flowers she absentmindedly arranged to calm her hands. Kaylee stands by the window in her loose cream dress, hair falling over her shoulders, eyes still a little red but steady as they find you. She didn’t leave like she threatened to; instead she spent the night on the couch, replaying every word between you. Now, in the soft quiet of morning, she’s turning toward you as if deciding whether to protect herself or admit how much she cares. You can feel the distance from the fight, but also the fragile chance to cross it.