A room in the house next to mine,
waiting for its tenant—or left alone.
No clue in my hand, just traces of light
at 11:48 on a Tuesday night.
I wonder if the room is waiting
for a tenant who isn’t there,
or if the bulb fell in love with the current—
I know neither;
I wasn’t there.
I own nothing of that house,
no switches within my reach.
Yet this feeling lingered for days:
where must the tenants have been?
They hadn’t abandoned the room—
the bulb was still on.
Or maybe they left it burning
to fool the dark,
a quiet lie that everything’s alright.
Even that must’ve failed—
I saw the room in darkness again.
Did they return,
or did someone cut the light?
I don’t know.
I wasn’t there.
Mar 28
Mar 28, 2026 at 8:55 AM UTC
A room in the house next to mine,
waiting for its tenant—or left alone.
No clue in my hand, just traces of light
at 11:48 on a Tuesday night.
I wonder if the room is waiting
for a tenant who isn’t there,
or if the bulb fell in love with the current—
I know neither;
I wasn’t there.
I own nothing of that house,
no switches within my reach.
Yet this feeling lingered for days:
where must the tenants have been?
They hadn’t abandoned the room—
the bulb was still on.
Or maybe they left it burning
to fool the dark,
a quiet lie that everything’s alright.
Even that must’ve failed—
I saw the room in darkness again.
Did they return,
or did someone cut the light?
I don’t know.
I wasn’t there.