Bad Habit

She had this habit, you know? Biting her nails like she was chewing on thoughts too big for her to say out loud. Every little corner of her mind— places she never let anyone see— must’ve tasted bitter, because she'd always bite down harder when no one was looking. It wasn’t just a nervous thing; it was how she held herself together, when her thoughts went wandering to places where no words could reach. Sometimes, I’d catch her staring off, like her mind was already somewhere I’d never be, and her fingers, they’d follow. Maybe that’s how she kept herself from drifting too far. Like if she could feel the sting, she’d know she was still here. Still real. Still tethered to something.