The Fridge Hums to Itself

I came down for nothing. Not water, not food — I just couldn't be in the bed anymore, so now I'm standing in the kitchen at half past two with the fridge humming to itself and the floor cold through my socks.

It's strange how empty a house gets at this hour. Not lonely exactly. Just empty, the way a glass is empty — like it's waiting to be useful again and nobody's come. I keep thinking I should feel more than I do. My week was fine. Nothing happened. That's almost the problem; nothing happened, and somehow that's heavier than if it had.

I opened the fridge for no reason and stood in its light. Leftovers, a jar of something I'll never finish, the milk. I closed it. The hum kept going after the light went out, steady, like it hadn't noticed me at all.

I don't know what I came down here to find. I'm still not going back up yet.