You just walked right past it. The little glowing button by the door. Somebody could be out there.
Remember when the doorbell meant it was Grandma, or the kid from down the street, or a box? We used to run. We used to slide across the floor in our socks and get there first, both hands on the handle, because whoever rang it was a mystery until you opened the door, and the mystery was the whole point.
Now you look at your phone first. There's a tiny you-shaped box on the screen showing the porch, and you squint at it and go, ugh, and you don't get up. You already know who it is before you know who it is. You solved the mystery so it wouldn't get you.
I get it, kind of. Some rings are just people selling stuff. But you used to think every single ring might be something wonderful. A friend. A surprise. An adventure standing on the mat in the rain.
Here's the thing I keep watching for. When your friend actually does come over, the real one, you still light up. You still open the door before they finish knocking. You still say their name like it's the best word you know.
So you didn't lose it. You just got careful with it. That's okay.
Will you still run, though? Just once, for me?
Just to feel your socks slide?