What the Body Remembers of a House

Years after leaving, my hand still reaches for a light switch that isn't there. My feet still expect a step that no longer exists under them. The new house has learned nothing from the old one, but my body hasn't caught up, and for a while it keeps navigating a floor plan that only exists in muscle. I don't think this is nostalgia, exactly. Nostalgia is something the mind does on purpose, with feeling attached. This is closer to a glitch — a body still running old software in a building that replaced it months ago, correcting itself each time, a little slower to forget than I expected it to be.