Dinner on a chipped plate

Dinner on a chipped plate,

a muted TV humming low.

The glow filled the corner,

spilling into every quiet space.

She said it was just how it was—

every night, the screen’s soft pulse

rippled through the kitchen air,

a constant, glowing background noise.

I thought it was normal,

a simple comfort.

Later, I saw the silence

in other houses,

noticed the empty space

where the glow should have been.

What felt safe then

had been something else,

a quiet noise that filled the gaps

no one spoke of.