I could see the light was still on from my driveway. The pale beige of the living room curtains ensnaring most of its potency in a linen wall of muted white.
My legs were starting to feel like every muscle had been replaced by spilling bags of sand with every took closer to the porch. Something about seeing your front door after a long day… your brain just immediately begins threatening to put you under a coma because home equals safe I suppose— I don't know, I don't practice neurology. This brain doesn't know brains.
After a second or two of shimmying my key into the lock, I gave the door a gentle push and stepped forward to only a dim, empty foyer to welcome my arrival.
Hm, feels like something's missing here.
