Comfort from a distance

Nightwalking around so one follows scatters of light. Through windows or street poles, or those somewhat cheesy lantern-esque ones hanging off the mail center. It felt like some artist etched them in for the evening, bit of a smudge, and they’re tracing my next step.

Running the circuit around sometimes the lights become a little more complex. Through the blinders so a peak of computer LEDs in a merge of neon greens — in others quite obvious how their whole room is drenched in a red-light therapy advisory from Bryan Johnson. Some refashioned their porch with a permanent light show, perhaps aligned to the holiday movements: at least one had a mixture of Easter in it. Others send off their smart light bulb through a cool color cycle perhaps to emulate a prior city night life.

Parts of these apartment complexes come with these lovely square windows. Proper square, probably a bit bigger than a filebox, with the classic X construed from each corner reminiscent of a homestead. With these square windows I adorn a vague metaphor: of portals I can look through, of a comforting place.

To almost hear the conversation as they flick through Netflix, asking if you’ve seen that, or we should watch this again, and they grab another tortilla chip with spinach artichoke dip. Someone opening and closing the refrigerator, popping open a soda, chiding how they haven’t selected at least something yet, and then the door knocks with the teenage pizza delivery. Another resident rushes up and past the delivery with their own Chinese takeout, through their door to plop down and wrap headphones around to see if they made it in time to join the next game.

You can hear all of it, and I already lived it. To see splinters of existence through each beam reminiscence, and for today I find satisfaction knowing how many others get to indulge. Although I can no longer find comfort in such things — that is, it’s improbable to watch a movie, or play games, eat out, all unrelated reasons — so I at least take comfort in the idea of it, in the fact others still have it. It’s enough that it exists.

A string-light symphony waiting to soothe every evening.