When I was seventeen, my family left for a summer trip to Canada and trusted me with the house. I told myself I was excited for the independence, but the first night made it clear how loud quiet can be. The rooms felt larger than they ever had, and time seemed to move by the sound of the clock rather than by moments. I ate alone, watched the same shows twice, and went to bed earlier than usual just to escape the stillness. By the seventh day, the loneliness had settled deep enough that even small things felt heavy. That...
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