- the squirrels are strangely friendly to you.
- the skeletons of winterbarren trees begin to reach out to you as you walk past.
- the longing for a warm bath never ends, even when your fingertips prune and your hair sags against your face in the tub.
- you start to understand the noises whales make.
- the fly buzzing around your room is more comforting than you’d like.
- you play catch with the falling leaves.
- you can no longer feel the seam along the tip of the mismatched socks on your feet.
- the cookies don’t soften in your tea.
- you sit in front of the agave americana flower, waiting for it to open.
- you hug your overheating laptop for warmth; its overworked sighs put you to sleep.
- laying on the floor is better than the cushions, better than the bed.
- you wake up for the sunrise; the sunrise wakes you up.
- the dishes don’t pile up.
- you hang your keychain out of your pocket so it can see the world.
- your hands don’t shake when you light the candle on your bedside table; the smell is unfamiliar every time; the smoke never blows in your face.
- the oranges aren’t sour anymore.
