I am watching the light under the door for my parents’ feet. I am going to sleep. On the table is a glass of water and another glass of water. The chair at my desk turns into something you wouldn’t like. There’s a reason not to tell anyone. In my dream I looked down at my body, but it wasn’t a dream. Not a lot of things go up. I caught the balloon by the end of its string. I did not catch the balloon. I was sorry to see it go. A lot of things get smaller. Shoes, jackets. Don’t laugh at me. I know the sound a dog makes when it’s in love. I know what people do when they get married. There are some grown-ups in the other room, but they are not there for me. And that’s not the only thing.