texts to lizzy, #01

i should probably write this down on paper rather than sending it via text, but here we are. i will probably transcribe it later.

i’m grateful that i enjoy silent, and that i enjoy dark, but i am more grateful that i am working to cultivate silence and cultivate darkness at such a young age—making it essential for myself, and if all goes well, routine. my roommate turns the hallway overhead light on every time he comes home. then the kitchen overhead light after that, then the other kitchen overhead light (the one he installed), then the kitchen passway overhead light. and even when i am in my room, hidden from the light by walls, i know he is home, because he whistles. and when he doesn’t whistle, he listens—to music, to TikTok, and soon soon enough, whatever TV show he rewatching (it is currently The Office).

it’s quite destitute, his lack of void—always light, always noise. and i’d like to try to help him, but i doubt it would do anything; it would be like trying to tell my dad that he needs to learn to be kind—nothing will change.

so i’m sitting here in the front office, with the windows open—i hear the wind rustling the leaves, and the neighbors talking and oh, there’s some wind chimes—with a coupe bowl half full of mostly-eaten scrambled eggs and maple sausage patties, and i’m sitting here, eating, breathing, listening; i’m sitting here grateful.

my roommate will be back home soon, and the sacred will be shooed out of the house. but it’s here with me now, and i’m grateful. it’s sitting here, and i’m sitting here, and i am grateful.