Zinnia

Found a patch of moon-bright moss while gathering nightshade for my parents. It only glows when you’re quiet enough to hear your own heartbeat. I sat with it for a while, tracing the soft green light with my fingertip, and for a moment everything felt still—the fear, the hunger, the weight of being the one who holds everything together. I wish I could weave a blanket from this moss and wrap my family in it. Something gentle to keep out the cold and the memories. But the real world doesn’t wait for wishes. The snare was empty again tonight.