Goodnight to the Stairwell

i take the stairs at night now. the elevator does this thing where it stops on floors nobody pressed and the doors open on a dark hallway, and i'd rather not. so. eleven flights, slow, socks on cold concrete.

there's a landing between four and five where the motion light never fully commits. it clicks like it's about to go dark and then changes its mind. i've started sitting there. middle of the building, middle of the night, the hum of something mechanical i'll never see.

i don't pray or whatever. but somewhere this year i started saying goodnight to the stairwell. out loud, barely. goodnight, like to a pet. the light clicks. i tell myself it's the timer.

tonight i said it and the light didn't click after. it just stayed warm and on the whole time i sat there, like the building was waiting until i was ready to go up.

i know it's a timer. i know buildings don't wait.

i went up anyway feeling like i'd been answered.