I sat under a blanket and no one asked me anything

Dear Delyara, No questions from upstairs. No phone. No one remembering something right as I sat down. No practical issue waiting at the exact edge of the room. Just a blanket, a dim lamp, my own breathing, and enough temporary freedom from usefulness to let my shoulders drop properly. I think that’s what I miss most when life gets too full — not happiness, exactly. Unclaimed time. Time that isn’t already promised to someone else’s next need. Time that does not immediately become productivity the second it appears. I had twelve minutes of that. They mattered.