Where do all the goodnights go when we say them?

Winston lay in bed, eyes wide open. The room glowed softly with moonlight. He wasn't quite ready for sleep yet.

"I know what to do," Winston whispered. "I'll say goodnight to everything."

He sat up on his pillow. "Goodnight, lamp," he said, watching its warm light. "Thank you for helping me see."

The lamp seemed to shine a little softer, as if smiling back.

"Goodnight, chair," Winston continued, looking at the wooden chair by his door. "You hold my clothes so nicely."

The chair stood steady and strong, like a quiet friend.

Winston's voice grew gentler.