We hear the outside world from inside our mothers’ wombs, while sleeping, and after all other senses have lost their grip, we hear from our deathbeds.
Our recent beach trips have met with obstacles, but that trend will soon end.
In his absence, Bob’s world was unalterably changed—torn up and rearranged.
At first, I only hear it when I get up to pee at night, and it seems to come from the exhaust vent.
The pictures on our bedroom wall each contain at least one memory—a captured spirit or ghost, if you will.