Our old house is for sale. In the photos, it looks cluttered. They have a boy and a girl, fully lived-in rooms. We wouldn’t have had that, not there. It still feels weird to look at.
I think Zillow has forgotten I’m not the owner anymore. I keep getting update emails. They make me remember. It’s not terrible to remember.
Your sister is sleeping on my chest. We had a scare last night. This morning. I am constantly, low key terrified. And also, somehow, okay.
I miss you. I miss you in the bedrooms you never got to furnish. I miss you in the places you never got to see. I miss you on the first day of preschool and family pictures and sticky fingers. I miss you in the echoes of all of these things lived in other people. Sometimes, I even hear you.
I wonder which one would have been your bedroom?
