It’s been a few weeks now. Your door creaks the same way it used to. You never fixed it - careless, trusting. You always were too soft for this world, little bird. But I’m here now. I let myself in with practiced precision, like I used to. My fingers trail the edge of the hallway wall. Same photos. Same chipped frame. You’ve changed things, but not enough to keep me out. You thought I disappeared? Never. I see you by the fire, reading. Of course Oh little bird. I missed you
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