Letters Lost to The Wind

Let The TV Glow

Content Warning
Trans metaphor

You sit in the room that isn't dark enough,
light spilling out from the corner where the TV hums.
It paints you in shades of pink, white and blue,
colours you never thought could belong to you.
The glow is a question: What if?
The glow is an answer: Why not?

Let the TV glow.

Let it cast its warmth over the parts of you
you’ve hidden like relics in dusty boxes.
You’ve told yourself you don’t need to look,
but here it is, lighting your face,
showing you who you are in soft, flickering frames.

The voices on the screen are distant,
but the hum in your chest is close.
It beats against your ribs, insistent,
like static searching for a signal.
You can hear it, can’t you?
The whisper that says,
this is yours.

The room isn’t empty.
It holds all the versions of you you’ve ever been,
stacked like VHS tapes on a forgotten shelf.
The glow reaches for them too,
but it doesn’t judge the dust,
doesn’t question why some are still sealed,
why some are rewound to the beginning.

Let the TV glow.

Let it wash over you until the edges blur.
You don’t have to explain why you’re here,
why you’re watching.
You don’t have to explain why the light feels
like the first thing you’ve ever truly owned.

Somewhere in the hum,
there’s a name you’ve always known.
It’s been written in subtitles you never read,
hidden in the spaces between commercial breaks.
It’s yours to take.

You reach out, not for the remote,
but for the truth.
Your fingers hover over the static,
and the screen seems to hum louder,
to pull you closer, as if it’s been waiting.

Let the TV glow.

Let it glow until it becomes you.
Until you are no longer afraid
of the light that’s always been there,
flickering, waiting, humming your name.