Comhroinn Fuaime

Not honest. Just… right. Like she’s said it before. And you feel it. But you ignore it. She’s there. But you can’t feel her. Like talking through glass. You reach for her hand. She doesn’t pull away. But she doesn’t meet you either. There’s no pressure. No response. Just… presence without connection. And you call that progress. Then comes the pattern. She’s busy. Tired. Overwhelmed. Needs space. You send something real. She replies with… almost nothing. Hours later. You tell yourself it’s norma