I turned off the kitchen light and felt like the room had finally stopped calling my name

Dear Delyara, With the light on, the room still speaks. The cup on the side. The crumbs. The lunchboxes. The fruit. The list on the counter. The bin. The milk. The forms. The whole domestic voice of “before tomorrow, don’t forget…” Then the light went off. And suddenly it was only a room again. Dark. Still. Not asking. That moment gave me more relief than the whole evening had. I think that is information.