I’ve already downed all my coffee. The ceramic mug is empty but still ghostly warm – lingering reminder what is now gone. I clutch it closely, still holding on.

My roommate, who I’ve said few words to since moving in, is back.

She wears a large scoop-neck shirt, brandishing a large, stretching tattoo of a sun on her chest, brilliantly coloured and tribal.

[I wish I could put my hand on it… feel the rabid heart knocking under the breast plate, frantically pumping hot blood into her little body.] She looks at me and smiles.

Her aura engulfs the room.

And somehow, it’s not so dark anymore.