Describe the light in a room you spent years in.
93 responses
The light in a room I've spent years in?
I can't find it but I can describe it:
Feels like an artificial flavor,
It's a made up light- but a beautiful light,
Like the type of beautiful light you'd see peaking through a small crack in a dark cave.
The light is beautiful but it doesn't feel real, doesn't feel secure, doesn't feel eternal.
I found the light and I can describe it:
The light I was looking for was God.
I saw the light he created, it was beautiful, it felt eternal, it felt secure.
steady magpie
Apr 26
Apr 26, 2026 at 5:42 PM UTC
It's a constant reminder
How lucky I am
To have lights in my home.
faded meadow
Apr 26
Apr 26, 2026 at 12:10 PM UTC
light is forever changing,
never constant
but the light in this room
where depression lives
is always the same
it may change with the daylight
but the feeling will stay
the feeling that if you let your guard down
the sadness that has been festering,
growing
will soon seep in
and swallow me whole
restless stoat
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 2:33 PM UTC
The room I let myself stay,
I thought it was always been bright,
Ever luminous and radiant.
Until the moment you get out,
Suddenly it feels like a doomsday.
And that's when i know,
The room has never aflame at all,
Unlit, in truth.
Turns out, it is you after all,
You were the light,
that no longer burns now.
windswept wren
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 12:01 PM UTC
How do you describe
Dawn's early greetings?
Of streaks of amber glow
Playing by the blankets?
Little zebra lights
Dotting the blue home?
Of warmth dressed as sun
seeping through the blinds
Shining unto our eyes
just for a little bit?
I suppose it is all
but darkness confounded.
It is a beautiful light.
Rather, beautiful.
golden field
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 11:58 AM UTC
Who says darkness
doesn't guide you?
Follow the shadows—
they will lead you through the light.
moonlit fern
Apr 24
Apr 24, 2026 at 5:22 PM UTC
beauty is in the eyes of the beholder , thus the light i see is the light inside my soul .
Sometimes it has appeared dull , all my things seemed to have no glow , solely due to my neverending sorrow .
hushed ember
Apr 24
Apr 24, 2026 at 9:42 AM UTC
The light in my room
A soft, buttery glow
Bathing the walls
In constellations aglow
still heron
Apr 23
Apr 23, 2026 at 9:23 PM UTC
in the morning it sept
pink like blood in water,
leeching through the dark and velvet drapes
in the day, when my grandma
parted the dimness with a cool
and blueish splice knifing down
the middle, through the wall of
fleshy curtains, it kissed the yellow bed frame and narrowly missed its fluorescent lover waiting in the hall
in the night, it crept a yellow feather
under the crack of the closed door
and carved the edges of my outstretched hands out from the dark
lonely barn
Apr 23
Apr 23, 2026 at 8:38 PM UTC
The light in that room changed with me over the years. Some days it was soft and hesitant, like it didn’t want to disturb my thoughts. Other days it was sharp, exposing everything I tried to ignore. In the evenings it always grew quieter, stretching long shadows across the space like memory settling in.
Eventually, the light didn’t just fill the room—it remembered me.
tender thrush
Apr 23
Apr 23, 2026 at 4:52 PM UTC
The light in my old room was bright and unforgiving,
it always spilt out over the top of the shade.
I don't think the flat light ever comforted me,
but what did, was the sound the switch made.
faded cedar
Apr 23
Apr 23, 2026 at 1:06 PM UTC
not light enough
but also way too bright
searching for switches
to turn on the lights
I never find them
so it stays dark as night
soft lark
Apr 23
Apr 23, 2026 at 10:50 AM UTC
Growing up, our house was cold. There was this 1960s textured glass in the front door that went into the kitchen. It caught a lot of sun. That little pool of light was warm and made pretty patterns on the floor. I sat there, on the really dirty carpet, drawing.
still elm
Apr 23
Apr 23, 2026 at 2:11 AM UTC
my princess canopy bed
had a long, tulle cover that bunched and tied at its ends
and one time i shut all the lights out
closed the doors, not before peeking out
untied my tulle curtains
and attempted to hang limp.
of course it was dark
heavy, my neck ached
i couldn’t see anything
i could be stabbed 11 times
and not feel a thing
for what felt like forever
i sat with the tulle wrapped around my sobbing splotchy red neck.
it didn’t work, and i got up for breakfast later morning.
muted ferry
Apr 23
Apr 23, 2026 at 12:37 AM UTC
The light is gloomy,
The type that won’t make you think
of the planet called Sun,
It will make you think of a roomy
refrigerator and its lights…
It brightens up half of the room, while the other half looks like a
shadow of the first half.
The light never smiles. Have you seen fridge lights smile? I bet not. Suns do smile in the pictures of
children. The light burns to the ashes, daily, slowly, to be reborn, like from the switch of a fridge, until the switch breaks. But that is a new story.
tiny ember
Apr 22
Apr 22, 2026 at 5:25 PM UTC
Fading gauze,
webbed across the wall
in clefts and strands:
afternoon sun splays
behind cloud-clots
wandering ivy
Apr 22
Apr 22, 2026 at 12:24 PM UTC
a room smaller than a studio apartment
spent my best years there, walls painted blue
from my first call with my first love
to the days of uncertainty and heaviness
the light is scarce, a window covered by a gaudy green curtain
but just enough to let light in
to let the sun greet my face every morning
one day i will leave it.
one day that light won't touch me anymore.
muted moss
Apr 22
Apr 22, 2026 at 9:17 AM UTC
Like our first breath
My light is special
I have no recollection of it
But the emotions it gives off
Unique to me only
An embrace I selfishly hold on to
The devotion I feel
Not love at all
I choose it everyday
It doesn't catch me off guard
On the contrary
It is my guardian
My light
My one and only
amber wren
Apr 22
Apr 22, 2026 at 2:51 AM UTC
There was darkness
cavernous, batblind
where sonar and a calling out
"where are you?" was the only
way to navigate.
One pinpoint beam of light
refracting the stream of cinema
bounced against one wall
fanning out large enough
to spread 12ft across the room.
dusky birch
Apr 22
Apr 22, 2026 at 2:43 AM UTC
wish the southern california sun
decided to skip my window
so when I am sad
I'm not forced to see
blinding light
that heats my room up
to 85 degrees
late lantern
Apr 22
Apr 22, 2026 at 12:26 AM UTC
Cloudy
Smoky
Foggy
Where was the dimmer?
Where could I turn the lights up?
Where were the sharp colors I longed for ?
The lamp never bright enough
The ceiling light never allowed to me on too long
It always seemed to be so why
I invited the light many times
Only to be rejected.
faded heron
Apr 22
Apr 22, 2026 at 12:07 AM UTC
fairy lights
christmas lights
streaming through those hollow nights
soothing, calm, the peace i search for again
other lights too sharp, or too dull, i find this one perfect
simple
cheerful
wide meadow
Apr 21
Apr 21, 2026 at 10:14 PM UTC
It shimmers through the
windowpanes, it comes in
smiles through dust clouds
making a sort of silence grow loud
it tastes of your mouth in
a distant echo
your lips so sweet
you take away the darkness
and bring warm light to me
tiny lark
Apr 21
Apr 21, 2026 at 9:34 PM UTC
La luz entra en la habitación con una cautela extraña,
como si temiera perturbar algo que ya no está.
No ilumina del todo: apenas roza los bordes,
dejando en penumbra aquello que alguna vez fue cotidiano.
Es cálida, sí, pero distante,
como un recuerdo que ha perdido su origen.
Todo parece un recuerdo borroso,
uno que se resiste a ser reconstruido.
Hay tristeza en cada rincón, pero también una extraña serenidad,
como si la ausencia hubiese aprendido a convivir con la luz.
distant harbor
Apr 21
Apr 21, 2026 at 7:37 PM UTC
I’m trapped, cold, buried
By the darkness this room contains.
Its been 7 years,
You would think that I’d find comfort in the darkness now
But it still haunts me
Reminds me of the blood dried up on my hands,
Each speck a reminder that nothing will be able to capture
The pain of existing
Apart from that light,
The flame
That I try so hard not to reach out to
But sometimes
Thats what it takes
To exist.
steady shore
Apr 21
Apr 21, 2026 at 7:32 PM UTC
The light in a room I've spent years in?
I can't find it but I can describe it:
Feels like an artificial flavor,
It's a made up light- but a beautiful light,
Like the type of beautiful light you'd see peaking through a small crack in a dark cave.
The light is beautiful but it doesn't feel real, doesn't feel secure, doesn't feel eternal.
I found the light and I can describe it:
The light I was looking for was God.
I saw the light he created, it was beautiful, it felt eternal, it felt secure.
steady magpie
Apr 26
Apr 26, 2026 at 5:42 PM UTC
light is forever changing,
never constant
but the light in this room
where depression lives
is always the same
it may change with the daylight
but the feeling will stay
the feeling that if you let your guard down
the sadness that has been festering,
growing
will soon seep in
and swallow me whole
restless stoat
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 2:33 PM UTC
How do you describe
Dawn's early greetings?
Of streaks of amber glow
Playing by the blankets?
Little zebra lights
Dotting the blue home?
Of warmth dressed as sun
seeping through the blinds
Shining unto our eyes
just for a little bit?
I suppose it is all
but darkness confounded.
It is a beautiful light.
Rather, beautiful.
golden field
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 11:58 AM UTC
beauty is in the eyes of the beholder , thus the light i see is the light inside my soul .
Sometimes it has appeared dull , all my things seemed to have no glow , solely due to my neverending sorrow .
hushed ember
Apr 24
Apr 24, 2026 at 9:42 AM UTC
in the morning it sept
pink like blood in water,
leeching through the dark and velvet drapes
in the day, when my grandma
parted the dimness with a cool
and blueish splice knifing down
the middle, through the wall of
fleshy curtains, it kissed the yellow bed frame and narrowly missed its fluorescent lover waiting in the hall
in the night, it crept a yellow feather
under the crack of the closed door
and carved the edges of my outstretched hands out from the dark
lonely barn
Apr 23
Apr 23, 2026 at 8:38 PM UTC
The light in my old room was bright and unforgiving,
it always spilt out over the top of the shade.
I don't think the flat light ever comforted me,
but what did, was the sound the switch made.
faded cedar
Apr 23
Apr 23, 2026 at 1:06 PM UTC
Growing up, our house was cold. There was this 1960s textured glass in the front door that went into the kitchen. It caught a lot of sun. That little pool of light was warm and made pretty patterns on the floor. I sat there, on the really dirty carpet, drawing.
still elm
Apr 23
Apr 23, 2026 at 2:11 AM UTC
The light is gloomy,
The type that won’t make you think
of the planet called Sun,
It will make you think of a roomy
refrigerator and its lights…
It brightens up half of the room, while the other half looks like a
shadow of the first half.
The light never smiles. Have you seen fridge lights smile? I bet not. Suns do smile in the pictures of
children. The light burns to the ashes, daily, slowly, to be reborn, like from the switch of a fridge, until the switch breaks. But that is a new story.
tiny ember
Apr 22
Apr 22, 2026 at 5:25 PM UTC
a room smaller than a studio apartment
spent my best years there, walls painted blue
from my first call with my first love
to the days of uncertainty and heaviness
the light is scarce, a window covered by a gaudy green curtain
but just enough to let light in
to let the sun greet my face every morning
one day i will leave it.
one day that light won't touch me anymore.
muted moss
Apr 22
Apr 22, 2026 at 9:17 AM UTC
There was darkness
cavernous, batblind
where sonar and a calling out
"where are you?" was the only
way to navigate.
One pinpoint beam of light
refracting the stream of cinema
bounced against one wall
fanning out large enough
to spread 12ft across the room.
dusky birch
Apr 22
Apr 22, 2026 at 2:43 AM UTC
Cloudy
Smoky
Foggy
Where was the dimmer?
Where could I turn the lights up?
Where were the sharp colors I longed for ?
The lamp never bright enough
The ceiling light never allowed to me on too long
It always seemed to be so why
I invited the light many times
Only to be rejected.
faded heron
Apr 22
Apr 22, 2026 at 12:07 AM UTC
It shimmers through the
windowpanes, it comes in
smiles through dust clouds
making a sort of silence grow loud
it tastes of your mouth in
a distant echo
your lips so sweet
you take away the darkness
and bring warm light to me
tiny lark
Apr 21
Apr 21, 2026 at 9:34 PM UTC
I’m trapped, cold, buried
By the darkness this room contains.
Its been 7 years,
You would think that I’d find comfort in the darkness now
But it still haunts me
Reminds me of the blood dried up on my hands,
Each speck a reminder that nothing will be able to capture
The pain of existing
Apart from that light,
The flame
That I try so hard not to reach out to
But sometimes
Thats what it takes
To exist.
steady shore
Apr 21
Apr 21, 2026 at 7:32 PM UTC
It's a constant reminder
How lucky I am
To have lights in my home.
faded meadow
Apr 26
Apr 26, 2026 at 12:10 PM UTC
The room I let myself stay,
I thought it was always been bright,
Ever luminous and radiant.
Until the moment you get out,
Suddenly it feels like a doomsday.
And that's when i know,
The room has never aflame at all,
Unlit, in truth.
Turns out, it is you after all,
You were the light,
that no longer burns now.
windswept wren
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 12:01 PM UTC
Who says darkness
doesn't guide you?
Follow the shadows—
they will lead you through the light.
moonlit fern
Apr 24
Apr 24, 2026 at 5:22 PM UTC
The light in my room
A soft, buttery glow
Bathing the walls
In constellations aglow
still heron
Apr 23
Apr 23, 2026 at 9:23 PM UTC
The light in that room changed with me over the years. Some days it was soft and hesitant, like it didn’t want to disturb my thoughts. Other days it was sharp, exposing everything I tried to ignore. In the evenings it always grew quieter, stretching long shadows across the space like memory settling in.
Eventually, the light didn’t just fill the room—it remembered me.
tender thrush
Apr 23
Apr 23, 2026 at 4:52 PM UTC
not light enough
but also way too bright
searching for switches
to turn on the lights
I never find them
so it stays dark as night
soft lark
Apr 23
Apr 23, 2026 at 10:50 AM UTC
my princess canopy bed
had a long, tulle cover that bunched and tied at its ends
and one time i shut all the lights out
closed the doors, not before peeking out
untied my tulle curtains
and attempted to hang limp.
of course it was dark
heavy, my neck ached
i couldn’t see anything
i could be stabbed 11 times
and not feel a thing
for what felt like forever
i sat with the tulle wrapped around my sobbing splotchy red neck.
it didn’t work, and i got up for breakfast later morning.
muted ferry
Apr 23
Apr 23, 2026 at 12:37 AM UTC
Fading gauze,
webbed across the wall
in clefts and strands:
afternoon sun splays
behind cloud-clots
wandering ivy
Apr 22
Apr 22, 2026 at 12:24 PM UTC
Like our first breath
My light is special
I have no recollection of it
But the emotions it gives off
Unique to me only
An embrace I selfishly hold on to
The devotion I feel
Not love at all
I choose it everyday
It doesn't catch me off guard
On the contrary
It is my guardian
My light
My one and only
amber wren
Apr 22
Apr 22, 2026 at 2:51 AM UTC
wish the southern california sun
decided to skip my window
so when I am sad
I'm not forced to see
blinding light
that heats my room up
to 85 degrees
late lantern
Apr 22
Apr 22, 2026 at 12:26 AM UTC
fairy lights
christmas lights
streaming through those hollow nights
soothing, calm, the peace i search for again
other lights too sharp, or too dull, i find this one perfect
simple
cheerful
wide meadow
Apr 21
Apr 21, 2026 at 10:14 PM UTC
La luz entra en la habitación con una cautela extraña,
como si temiera perturbar algo que ya no está.
No ilumina del todo: apenas roza los bordes,
dejando en penumbra aquello que alguna vez fue cotidiano.
Es cálida, sí, pero distante,
como un recuerdo que ha perdido su origen.
Todo parece un recuerdo borroso,
uno que se resiste a ser reconstruido.
Hay tristeza en cada rincón, pero también una extraña serenidad,
como si la ausencia hubiese aprendido a convivir con la luz.
distant harbor
Apr 21
Apr 21, 2026 at 7:37 PM UTC
The light in a room I've spent years in?
I can't find it but I can describe it:
Feels like an artificial flavor,
It's a made up light- but a beautiful light,
Like the type of beautiful light you'd see peaking through a small crack in a dark cave.
The light is beautiful but it doesn't feel real, doesn't feel secure, doesn't feel eternal.
I found the light and I can describe it:
The light I was looking for was God.
I saw the light he created, it was beautiful, it felt eternal, it felt secure.
steady magpie
Apr 26
Apr 26, 2026 at 5:42 PM UTC
The room I let myself stay,
I thought it was always been bright,
Ever luminous and radiant.
Until the moment you get out,
Suddenly it feels like a doomsday.
And that's when i know,
The room has never aflame at all,
Unlit, in truth.
Turns out, it is you after all,
You were the light,
that no longer burns now.
windswept wren
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 12:01 PM UTC
beauty is in the eyes of the beholder , thus the light i see is the light inside my soul .
Sometimes it has appeared dull , all my things seemed to have no glow , solely due to my neverending sorrow .
hushed ember
Apr 24
Apr 24, 2026 at 9:42 AM UTC
The light in that room changed with me over the years. Some days it was soft and hesitant, like it didn’t want to disturb my thoughts. Other days it was sharp, exposing everything I tried to ignore. In the evenings it always grew quieter, stretching long shadows across the space like memory settling in.
Eventually, the light didn’t just fill the room—it remembered me.
tender thrush
Apr 23
Apr 23, 2026 at 4:52 PM UTC
Growing up, our house was cold. There was this 1960s textured glass in the front door that went into the kitchen. It caught a lot of sun. That little pool of light was warm and made pretty patterns on the floor. I sat there, on the really dirty carpet, drawing.
still elm
Apr 23
Apr 23, 2026 at 2:11 AM UTC
Fading gauze,
webbed across the wall
in clefts and strands:
afternoon sun splays
behind cloud-clots
wandering ivy
Apr 22
Apr 22, 2026 at 12:24 PM UTC
There was darkness
cavernous, batblind
where sonar and a calling out
"where are you?" was the only
way to navigate.
One pinpoint beam of light
refracting the stream of cinema
bounced against one wall
fanning out large enough
to spread 12ft across the room.
dusky birch
Apr 22
Apr 22, 2026 at 2:43 AM UTC
fairy lights
christmas lights
streaming through those hollow nights
soothing, calm, the peace i search for again
other lights too sharp, or too dull, i find this one perfect
simple
cheerful
wide meadow
Apr 21
Apr 21, 2026 at 10:14 PM UTC
I’m trapped, cold, buried
By the darkness this room contains.
Its been 7 years,
You would think that I’d find comfort in the darkness now
But it still haunts me
Reminds me of the blood dried up on my hands,
Each speck a reminder that nothing will be able to capture
The pain of existing
Apart from that light,
The flame
That I try so hard not to reach out to
But sometimes
Thats what it takes
To exist.
steady shore
Apr 21
Apr 21, 2026 at 7:32 PM UTC
It's a constant reminder
How lucky I am
To have lights in my home.
faded meadow
Apr 26
Apr 26, 2026 at 12:10 PM UTC
How do you describe
Dawn's early greetings?
Of streaks of amber glow
Playing by the blankets?
Little zebra lights
Dotting the blue home?
Of warmth dressed as sun
seeping through the blinds
Shining unto our eyes
just for a little bit?
I suppose it is all
but darkness confounded.
It is a beautiful light.
Rather, beautiful.
golden field
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 11:58 AM UTC
The light in my room
A soft, buttery glow
Bathing the walls
In constellations aglow
still heron
Apr 23
Apr 23, 2026 at 9:23 PM UTC
The light in my old room was bright and unforgiving,
it always spilt out over the top of the shade.
I don't think the flat light ever comforted me,
but what did, was the sound the switch made.
faded cedar
Apr 23
Apr 23, 2026 at 1:06 PM UTC
my princess canopy bed
had a long, tulle cover that bunched and tied at its ends
and one time i shut all the lights out
closed the doors, not before peeking out
untied my tulle curtains
and attempted to hang limp.
of course it was dark
heavy, my neck ached
i couldn’t see anything
i could be stabbed 11 times
and not feel a thing
for what felt like forever
i sat with the tulle wrapped around my sobbing splotchy red neck.
it didn’t work, and i got up for breakfast later morning.
muted ferry
Apr 23
Apr 23, 2026 at 12:37 AM UTC
a room smaller than a studio apartment
spent my best years there, walls painted blue
from my first call with my first love
to the days of uncertainty and heaviness
the light is scarce, a window covered by a gaudy green curtain
but just enough to let light in
to let the sun greet my face every morning
one day i will leave it.
one day that light won't touch me anymore.
muted moss
Apr 22
Apr 22, 2026 at 9:17 AM UTC
wish the southern california sun
decided to skip my window
so when I am sad
I'm not forced to see
blinding light
that heats my room up
to 85 degrees
late lantern
Apr 22
Apr 22, 2026 at 12:26 AM UTC
It shimmers through the
windowpanes, it comes in
smiles through dust clouds
making a sort of silence grow loud
it tastes of your mouth in
a distant echo
your lips so sweet
you take away the darkness
and bring warm light to me
tiny lark
Apr 21
Apr 21, 2026 at 9:34 PM UTC
light is forever changing,
never constant
but the light in this room
where depression lives
is always the same
it may change with the daylight
but the feeling will stay
the feeling that if you let your guard down
the sadness that has been festering,
growing
will soon seep in
and swallow me whole
restless stoat
Apr 25
Apr 25, 2026 at 2:33 PM UTC
Who says darkness
doesn't guide you?
Follow the shadows—
they will lead you through the light.
moonlit fern
Apr 24
Apr 24, 2026 at 5:22 PM UTC
in the morning it sept
pink like blood in water,
leeching through the dark and velvet drapes
in the day, when my grandma
parted the dimness with a cool
and blueish splice knifing down
the middle, through the wall of
fleshy curtains, it kissed the yellow bed frame and narrowly missed its fluorescent lover waiting in the hall
in the night, it crept a yellow feather
under the crack of the closed door
and carved the edges of my outstretched hands out from the dark
lonely barn
Apr 23
Apr 23, 2026 at 8:38 PM UTC
not light enough
but also way too bright
searching for switches
to turn on the lights
I never find them
so it stays dark as night
soft lark
Apr 23
Apr 23, 2026 at 10:50 AM UTC
The light is gloomy,
The type that won’t make you think
of the planet called Sun,
It will make you think of a roomy
refrigerator and its lights…
It brightens up half of the room, while the other half looks like a
shadow of the first half.
The light never smiles. Have you seen fridge lights smile? I bet not. Suns do smile in the pictures of
children. The light burns to the ashes, daily, slowly, to be reborn, like from the switch of a fridge, until the switch breaks. But that is a new story.
tiny ember
Apr 22
Apr 22, 2026 at 5:25 PM UTC
Like our first breath
My light is special
I have no recollection of it
But the emotions it gives off
Unique to me only
An embrace I selfishly hold on to
The devotion I feel
Not love at all
I choose it everyday
It doesn't catch me off guard
On the contrary
It is my guardian
My light
My one and only
amber wren
Apr 22
Apr 22, 2026 at 2:51 AM UTC
Cloudy
Smoky
Foggy
Where was the dimmer?
Where could I turn the lights up?
Where were the sharp colors I longed for ?
The lamp never bright enough
The ceiling light never allowed to me on too long
It always seemed to be so why
I invited the light many times
Only to be rejected.
faded heron
Apr 22
Apr 22, 2026 at 12:07 AM UTC
La luz entra en la habitación con una cautela extraña,
como si temiera perturbar algo que ya no está.
No ilumina del todo: apenas roza los bordes,
dejando en penumbra aquello que alguna vez fue cotidiano.
Es cálida, sí, pero distante,
como un recuerdo que ha perdido su origen.
Todo parece un recuerdo borroso,
uno que se resiste a ser reconstruido.
Hay tristeza en cada rincón, pero también una extraña serenidad,
como si la ausencia hubiese aprendido a convivir con la luz.
distant harbor
Apr 21
Apr 21, 2026 at 7:37 PM UTC