[ WP ] Every morning she puts on her sweats , laces her shoes , downs some coffee , and goes running with a dead man .

It was dark and silent in the bedroom when she woke. The phone charging on the bedside table was quiet, still too early for the alarm. She looked at the clock, laid crooked next to the phone. She stretched her hands across the cotton gulf next to her on the bed. The dreams had been good, but waking only brought nostalgia and loneliness. The red numbers ran. 
 
 When the chirp of the alarm finally pulled her up, she sat stuck on the side. Feet dangled towards the floor: small, cold things. The carpet looked the same as it had the day before. Her bladder was not enough to move her, until the alarm sounded again. 
 
 As she pulled on the sports bra, she shuffled slowly across the hall. The first smudge of dawn reddened the sky outside the bathroom window, though it felt gloaming. The toilet seat was where she left it. The seat was cold. She let the lid fall and winched at the sudden hollow noise. 
 
 Strewn next to the capless toothpaste, she pushed through the identical pile to find the perfect hair band. She avoided seeing the reflection of the bags under her eyes and the hollowness of her cheeks as she pulled a ponytail. She couldn ’ t avoid seeing the redness contrasting her pale irises. 
 
 The third stair creaked and the fourth squeaked as she padded down to the living room. She reached for her running shoes and carried them down the hall. The coffee pot was cold and empty. She walked back to the hall and looked up and down. The rooms here were all dark. 
 
 She sat on the front porch, pulling on each shoe. The streetlight was still on across the cul-de-sac, backlit by a sky growing orange. She moved down to the street. Turning left and right she looked for any signs of life, but there were none. She adjusted the apps on her phone and pushed in her earphones. She started her morning jog. 
 
 The music didn ’ t stop the memories of him. 

