I swear there is no feeling
quite
as
comforting like the glow of the television from the window of the
house down the street on a night when I cannot sleep. Sometimes I
lay in bed trying to picture who is watching and why they also
can’t get to sleep. I think of how they will never know how
many nights they have been my only source of solace, how
they’ve been the only means of consistency in my life when
so many others have failed.
My mother always tells me I find comfort in the uncomfortable,
that out of all of her children I am the only one that keeps her
up at night worrying the most. Sometimes I think about who might
be watching the television glowing from the window of my
parent’s bedroom as my mother stays up thinking about all
the other more suitable versions of myself she’d rather I
grew up to become. I think about who they are or why they are
awake staring at the flickering light of my parent’s
television, and I can’t help but be comforted by the
idea.
