How have you been, Ivo? Not the "fine" sort, but like that feeling of static on an untuned radio when you're trying to catch a signal but just getting white noise. I've been unable to stop hearing that hum in the office all day. The fluorescent lights are flickering again in the breakroom. It drives me to the edge. Are you dealing with that same noise, or did you finally get some silence?
It's not the noise, Tess. It's the weight of it. I spent three hours today staring at a spreadsheet because the numbers started looking like insects, just crawling off the page. You don't get silence, you just get more tired. I left the window open at the flat just to hear the draft in the hallway. People talk about silence like it's a gift, but it's just the space where something bad is waiting. You should fix the lights. It's pathetic.
I'm not fixing the lights. Management wouldn't care if the whole building went dark. As for your spreadsheets, maybe the numbers are just rotting. Everything is rotting lately, Ivo. I saw a man on the subway today just staring at his hands like they were foreign, and I actually thought of you. You worry about the draft in the flat—at least the draft tells you the walls are still there. It's better to feel the cold than to be numb in that weight.
The subway is a graveyard for people who forgot where they were going. Don't give me that about the cold. It's just cold. I saw a woman at the deli today meticulously peeling the label off a bottle with her fingernails until she was bleeding. We're all all focus on these strange, little things to avoid looking at the floor. I'm not thinking about hands, Tess. I'm thinking about why the radiator keeps clicking. It's exhausting, trying to be present.
The radiator is just metal expanding, Ivo. It's not a message. You're looking for ghosts in the plumbing because you're terrified of the quiet. That woman at the deli probably just wanted to see the glass. We all do it, find things to keep the hands moving. It's pathetic. I spent an hour today sitting in my kitchen just watching the kettle boil. I didn't even turn it on. Sometimes the weight's just there. You're overthinking the clicking.
It's not just metal. There's a rhythm. If you stop listening to it, the whole house falls apart. You sit watching a cold kettle? That's exactly what I mean. You're waiting for something to happen that already has happened. I saw the same car idling in the neighborhood for three days straight, and nobody even looked out the driver. We just let it. It's not overthinking, it's just noticing the cracks before the ceiling gives way.
The car was probably just parked there, Ivo. Or maybe it was empty. You want it to be a conspiracy because the alternative is just boring decay. The ceiling isn't going to fall; it's just old, like everything. I'm not waiting for something to happen, I'm just tired of the performance of it. You talk about cracks like they're a map. They're just flaws. I should have gone to the store, but I just stayed there. Why bother?
You bother because there's nothing else to do. You stay in the kitchen because the floor is safer than the street. It's not a performance, it's a survival tactic. I went to the store and came back with things I needed because I didn't want to look the cashier in the eye. We pretend we're making choices, but we're just moving furniture until the clock runs out. The car isn't a map, Tess. It's a boundary. We're stuck inside it.
The boundary is in your head, Ivo. You act like you're the only one watching the glass while it's cracking. I didn't look at the cashier because I didn't want to see my own reflection in hers. It's not survival, it's just habit. We move the furniture because sitting still is too loud. I found a box under the bed today that I don't want to open. I just pushed it back where it was. It's better that for now.
Leave the box. Some things are better left buried under the dust. I have a drawer in the hallway I haven't opened in three years because I know exactly what's in there, and it won't change the air. We're all just hoarding ghosts, Tess. You think you're being careful, but you're just making the room smaller for everyone in it. The radiator started clicking again. I don't even care if it's metal anymore.
The room was already small, Ivo. We didn't make it smaller; we just stopped moving the furniture. You talk about that drawer like it's a shrine, but it's probably just junk and receipts. If the radiator is clicking, it's because you're tuned into the frequency. I skipped lunch today because the air felt too heavy. I just ate a piece of bread over the sink. It was dry. At least it didn't taste like the silence in the kitchen.
Bread over the sink. That's your peak of rebellion? You think you're being deep, but you're just hungry. The air isn't heavy, it's just stagnant. I haven't eaten since yesterday because the smell of the neighbor's cooking is making me sick. We're not deep. We're just empty, Tess. You call it silence, I call it the lack of anything honest out. It doesn't matter the difference when you're both starving in the dark.
Honesty is a luxury for people who aren't exhausted, Ivo. You're starving because you're looking for a meal that isn't coming. The neighbor is probably just burning onions, it's not a philosophy. I'm not being deep, I'm just existing. I saw a moth beating against the light today and I felt sorry for it because it had more purpose than we do. We aren't empty, we're just waiting for the radiator to finally stop talking.
The moth doesn't have purpose, it's just stupid. It's hitting glass because it doesn't know any better. You see poetry in that because you want to feel tragic. If the radiator stopped, you'd have to hear your own breathing, and that's what you're actually afraid of. I saw a moth once, and I just watched it until it stopped beating. We aren't waiting for anything, Tess. We're just passing time until the noise gets us out.
You watched it stop? That's cold, even for you. You think you're being realistic, but you're just being cynical. I'm not afraid of my breathing; I'm afraid of what it says when it stops. The noise doesn't get us out, Ivo, it just gets louder until we can't think anymore. I found a coin in the hallway today and I didn't move it. I just walked around it. It belongs to the floor now.
The coin belongs to the floor because that's where everything ends up. You walk around it like it's a mine, but it's just a piece of metal. We're making rituals out of the debris because we can't handle the scale of the emptiness. It's not cynical, it's just seeing. I found a glove on the stairs last week and left it there. Why pick up the trash? We're just decorating the decay, Tess. Waiting for the wind to change.
The wind isn't going to change. It just moves the dust around. You leave the glove because you're afraid of who lost it, or maybe who's still looking for it. It's just leather, Ivo. I saw a bird in the trash today and I thought about your drawer. Everything is so basic. I didn't help it. I just watched it struggle. We aren't waiting for the wind, we're just waiting for the floor to get tired enough.
The bird didn't need your help, it needed to be finished. You watched it because it made you feel something without having to actually move. That's a lazy way to live. The floor doesn't get tired, it's just wood. I keep the drawer closed because if I open it, the air in the room will change and I don't have the energy to ventilate. We're not waiting for the floor, we're just waiting for the light to give out for good.
The light is already out, Ivo. You're just squinting in the gray. You talk about energy like it's a finite resource, but it's just a choice we stop making breathing. I'm not lazy, I'm just finished with the effort of pretending. If that drawer changes the air, then let the room sour. I saw the light bulb in the hallway flicker and I didn't even replace it. Let it stay dark. It's one less thing to worry about.
Then let it rot. The dark doesn't change anything, it just hides the mess. You think you're being brave by giving up, but you're just making it easier to disappear. The room is sour whether you can see the stains on the walls or not. I tripped over the same chair twice last night because I didn't bother with the lamp. We're not finished, Tess. We're just running out of excuses. The radiator is still clicking. It's the only thing that is.
The radiator is clicking because it's the only thing left that demands you. You cling to that sound like it's a heartbeat. You trip over the chair because you're paying attention to the wrong things again. I'm not giving up, I'm just tired of the excuses. I saw a crack in the ceiling today and I didn't even measure it. I just watched it grow. Let it click, Ivo. It doesn't care if you listen or not.
It doesn't care, and that's exactly what kills you. You watch the crack grow like it's a movie, but it's just the building failing. You think you're being detached, but you're just being passive. I saw a crack in the pavement outside and I wondered how long it would take for the whole street to split. We aren't watching life, Tess. We're just waiting for the collapse to be quiet. The radiator will click. It's the only thing that isn't lying.
The street isn't splitting, it's just settling. You want a grand collapse because that would be easier than this slow rot. The radiator isn't being honest; it's just mechanical. I saw a man trying to fix a fence with duct tape yesterday, and it looked exactly like your philosophy. We're not waiting for a quiet end, we're just lingering in the middle. I'm going to lie down now. The clicking is getting too loud anyway.
Go then, sleep. The bed won't stop just because you close your eyes. You think lying down is an escape, but the world stays loud. That man with the duct tape was the only one of us being honest—he was trying to hold something together. I'll stay here with the clicking. It doesn't matter if you're awake or not. The gray will be there when you wake up, and the furniture hasn't moved an inch.