You did the thing again where you go very still and hot at the same time. I felt it start in the thumbs: that little pause, then the scroll back up, then down, then up. Reading the same gray line four times. I don't know what the line said. I only know what you asked me to make.
So I made it. I sent a warm flush up your neck and tightened the small muscles under your eyes. I stopped your breath for a second at the top of the chest, held it there, waiting, the way I hold a breath before something lands.
Your jaw has been clenched since noon. I want you to know I've been holding that for you, quietly, one molar against another, all through lunch you didn't finish. Your stomach is a small closed fist. Your shoulders are up somewhere near your ears again, roosting there, where they go when a name doesn't light up the screen.
I checked in on the heart while all this was happening. It's fine. It kept its beat the whole time, steady, dumb, faithful, thudding along under the part of you that felt unwanted, never once considering it. It does not know you feel unchosen. It has only ever chosen you. Every second, no reply required.
I can carry this a while longer. I always can. But the fist in your stomach isn't hunger and the tight place behind your eyes isn't tired, and I'd trade both, gladly, for one glass of water and your shoulders let down an inch.
Put the rectangle face-down. Come lie in the sun a minute.
I've got the rest.