I’m Sitting at My Kitchen Table, Tapping My Fingertips and Wondering if the Ridges in My Nails Are Trying to Tell Me Something

I’m sitting at the small kitchen table in my tiny apartment, absently tapping my fingertips against the wooden surface while waiting for the coffee to brew.

It’s early morning, the kind of quiet hour where the world feels paused.

I glance down at my nails, noticing the fine ridges running along each of them under the clean light of the window.