It's funny, the little things that mean so much. You don't even notice them until they're gone. One day you wake up and find the neighbours have chopped a branch from the tree outside your window. Suddenly you feel a little more alone. You step outside and notice a For Sale sign across the street - it's an old, shabby house and you know it's going to be knocked down by the end of the month. And it's that moment when you realize a part of you will topple with it. Faint, but alive, soon to be as spectral as the puff of smoke that drifts from a candlewick after the flame is blown out. A sliver of your spirit.
Your sister kept goldfish once. They didn't last long, didn't linger enough to become attached to your soul. Fish were fickle things. They never seemed driven to survive, content to float into oblivion if the water wasn't just right. They lived for simple things, and simple things went foul quickly. One goldfish nibbled at fish flake, morning after morning, until the day it decided t