In a Psychological Issues in Art class I took during university, the professor told us of a man who lived beside an old factory. Each night, during the wee hours, a whistle would sound in the factory, letting the workers know their shift was finished. The man, who’d grown up next to the factory, had listened to that whistle his entire life and didn’t even notice it anymore.
Then, one day, the factory was closed. That night, the first time the whistle hadn’t sounded in years, the man woke up with a startle and asked, “What was that noise?”
I hadn’t thought of that story in a long time, until the last couple of months I’ve been waking up to the sound of Fina… not crying.
I hope this will pass soon!