My sister called me last week, but I didn't pick up. She texted that she wanted to talk. But then I forgot.

At first, time passed quickly. I got busy. When I would leave the library at night, the world seemed small as it came back into focus. I'd get dizzy. My head would feel big and heavy on my shoulders. I felt what was in my mind could not fit within a day. 

I am sure things have been similar for her. I am sure that after I went to voicemail, she went on with her day as if she hadn't called me at all, time passing quickly for her too. Both our days start in the early morning. Both of us see the hours getting longer and the sun setting sooner. We expect spring to have arrived by the time our alarms ring. We see so much in a day that it must be a season from now when we've rested and deserve a change.

I know we live similar lives. But our days are just different enough for her to call me. A small change. Something small reshaped her life in a subtle way, just enough that last week, she felt the need to let me know.

Every day I wait to call her, I wonder if the change gets bigger. Do we still do the things we used to do? I wonder if she still feels dizzy when she is tired. I take coffee with dinner now. Has she started to as well? I wake up to gulls on some brisk mornings and pretend I am at the beach. I always leave my window open, no matter how cold it gets. She must still do the same. 

Time has started passing faster. The more hours I stay up, the less I remember what I did with them. I added a blanket to my bed because the weather was getting cold and yet, I always leave my window open.

My hair grew long and tangled. I ran to places so I wouldn't miss things. I wore clothes I could sweat in to class. Life became a timed exercise: if I did everything a second faster, I'd have another second free. If I could say one word a second, I'd save a word for my sister for every little thing I had done.

Things have happened that way for a while now. Every moment is reduced to a word.

The whole morning I'd be waking. The entire evening I'd burn. And at midday, I'd be sitting. I'd look at the smaller and larger hours on either side of noon and decide which ones I'd like to go to. But I could only go forward. 

I'd pass entire days, waiting to spot one thing that was different, one thing that I'd never seen before. I would tell her this one thing if I ever found it. Even still, in all the sameness, I wanted to call and tell her everything is the same, but I never felt it was worth the words or time.

And I am not so patient to wait for a word that matches her worth.

Then, night comes. The nights are short, but I rely on them when the things that change are dreams. I wish I could remember them in the morning. I can't call her to say there was something that I forgot.

I am dust. And the dreams I have every night, I think, are wind. I wake up blown to bits and disintegrated. I'm all over my room, flying unseen between the ceiling and the floor. I spend the days putting myself together. 

When I am dust, I am shiny grains of earth before sunrise. Particles of me pixelate my view. Pink and red and tangerine color me and reflect on me, and it feels nice to be a part of the world. 

But I have to tear myself away and put myself together. I have to clean myself up. There is no time when I am putting myself together to pick up the phone. How does she find the time?

We used to share a room. We were so young. I once jumped so hard and high on my bed that I hit my head on the ceiling and fell off while she laid under her covers and watched. I might have scared her at the time. The cuts did not scar. I cleaned myself up. I do not think she remembers now. 

I don't remember if we ever talked at night. We were so young. I wonder when it became clear in our childhood that we would call one another when we got older.

She lives a bit far now. She got away from the cold. But here, the seasons have started to change. I know she knows that. 

I walked outside just now, and a leaf fell into my open hand. There was still enough light at 9 a.m. that I could feel heat on my skin, but not enough that it reflected off the clouds and hurt my sleepy eyes. It is fall because the leaves have changed, but they are hanging on, and there is a breeze that isn't strong yet. I have begun floating through the day as time has slowed down.