The House That Breathes

I thought old houses just creak. Then this one exhaled. Every night at

three seventeen, the walls sighed. Slow, deep, like lungs learning

my name. I stopped sleeping. Started listening. That is when I realized.

It only breathed when I was awake. Floorboards tightened. Doors leaned closer.

The hallway shortened by inches, like it was practicing. If a place

feels alive, ask yourself this. Are you living there or being kept?