Good evening synapses, I'm Emma.

Sixteen years taken for granted in this house and the knowledge that this is my last night spent breathing the calm air of this room comes reluctantly, feels sudden and sureal and too far to grasp. My ears are perked and my eyes wide, for the first time, to the sights and sounds that falling asleep in this house make. The wind combing through the branches outside my window. The neighborhood dogs belting their nighttime ritual. I recall labeling these sounds disturbing, as less valuable than silence, but in the light of the last night they are peaceful and harmonious. A welcomed disturbance in an unwavering pattern of ignorance, habituation, and misplaced priorities.