To my neighbor who keeps their television on at night: thank you. Your negligence makes me more empathetic. Some may be angered by the climactic sounds of a soap opera coming from your room — though not so much that they come knocking on your door — I just assume that you simply forget to turn the television off before bed just like I forget to turn off my lights. However, the more you do it and the more I do it, I decide that it is no mistake. We are two lonely creatures roaming this Earth. So, I have come to enjoy your company even if what lies between us is drywall and worn paint; the same wooden doors but dissimilar locks — portals into our misfortune.
Although, I will say it’s hard to get to know you. Some days I hear nothing but the creaking of your bed as you turn this way and that. Other days I hear everything. A static cacophony of indiscernible dialogue, machine guns, and terrified screams. Were you sad that day? Perhaps, happy the next? Sometimes, is it that you don’t know? I understand, but I’ll never ask.
It is times like these, when the world becomes too scary and quiet a place and I cannot help but aimlessly stare up at the white ceiling for answers, that I listen to what you have on. A given opportunity to lay my head against your chest, to hear how your heart beats. Selfishly, I now know that I am not alone. And, selflessly, I hope neither are you.