The porch swing doesn\'t groan because it’s tired anymore; it groans because the bolts are rusted and I’m the only one who noticed. I used to think the house breathed at night, rising and falling with the wind in the attic but now I just hear the foundation settling into the dirt.
I looked at my reflection in the hallway mirror and realized I’ve stopped looking for the person behind the glass. I’m just checking my collar. My pockets used to hold \"treasures\" - smooth stones, a translucent marble, a string that meant something important. Now they just hold a key that opens a door I have to lock myself.
The woods behind the fence haven\'t shrunk but the shadows have stopped reaching for me. They’re just shapes where the light couldn\'t get through. I’m standing on the grass and for the first time, I’m not waiting for a signal. I’m just standing in the cold, realizing the wind doesn\'t have a message for me. It’s just moving air and I’m the only one shivering.