Tonight is one of those nights where everything hurts.
Not the normal ache.
Not the “I overdid it today” stiffness.

No — this is the deep, chemo-soaked pain that crawls into your bones and then refuses to leave.

I’m lying here in bed,
warmish — not cosy, not comfortable, just warmish —
wearing my pink pyjamas, my white dressing gown, and my fluffy white woolly hat like a sad little Arctic explorer who’s given up halfway through the expedition.

Every inch of me is aching.
Even blinking hurts.
Explain that to me — why on earth does blinking hurt?!

My bones feel like they’re burning.
My head is pounding.
My muscles feel bruised.
My whole body feels too heavy to exist.

And honestly?
If the Grim Reaper walked into my room tonight,
I wouldn’t scream.
I’d probably just shuffle over and say:

“Mate, you’re late.”

Not because I want to die.
Not because I’m giving up.
But because this level of pain makes you think things you don’t actually mean —
the kind of thoughts born from exhaustion.

I managed maybe an hour of sleep after my bath.
One pathetic hour.
And somehow I woke up feeling worse for it.
Like my body was offended I dared to rest.

Everything aches.
Everything stings.
Everything is loud inside my skin.

Tonight is one of those nights that break you a bit.

And then — because my life LOVES to add emotional chaos on top of physical pain 
something else happened.

Mum Saw My Lock Screen

She picked up my phone earlier.
Totally innocent.
Just checking the time, or maybe moving it out of the way.

The screen lit up.

And there he was.

Ryan.

His face.
Still my lock screen.
Still staring back at me like a ghost from a life I’m trying so hard to let go of.

My stomach dropped straight through the mattress.
I swear even my chemo aches paused for a second like:

“Oooh. Awkward.”

I watched Mum.
Waited for the questions.
The eyebrows.
The “Who’s that, love?”
The lecture.

But she didn’t say a word.

Not one.

She just placed my phone back down gently and carried on like she hadn’t just seen the face of the man who once wrapped himself around me and gave me the best sleep I’d had in years.

And honestly?

I’m glad she didn’t ask.
I’m not ready to talk about him.
Not ready to explain it.
Not ready to hear what she thinks.
Not ready for the truth of it out loud.

I know I need to change it.
I know it shouldn’t still be him.
I know hanging on does nothing but hurt me.

But not tonight.

Tonight I’m wrapped in pain, exhaustion, bone-deep cold and the kind of ache that makes your breath stutter.

Tonight I’m surviving — just barely.
And if the only comfort I have is a picture on a screen I’m not ready to delete yet…

Then so be it.

I’ll change it eventually.
I will.
Just not tonight.

Tonight is for breathing.
For riding the pain.
For getting through the next hour.

And tomorrow?

Well… tomorrow I’ll try again.