A light bulb
I received for free
eleven years
ago, as part of an energy
conservation
movement regarding
Florescent (CFL) use, burned out last night.
There’s
nothing monumental about that.
It flickered
for a bit and finally went out.
It was just
a bulb I got for free, signifying
absolutely
nothing.
It was just
a bulb. In a lamp. In my living room.
A room
littered with memories, of loving,
losing and
leaving. Mixed with laughs,
lethargy and
passing moments of loathing.
The bulb,
nothing more really, shined over
discussions of
love, anger, joy, nonsense,
intimacy,
loneliness, desperation, elation,
and numerous
moments of embarrassment.
Eleven years
of the same bulb, just a bulb,
performing
its function without judgment,
consciousness,
nostalgia, or regret. It is just
a thing.
Just another thing in a room.
A light in
the dark is all it was. Just another light
in a long
line of bulbs replaced over and over
since the
first light bulb was lit by Mr. Edison,
just another
bulb.
Bulb
technology has probably advanced immensely
in eleven
years and the new bulb will possibly last
even
longer. The next bulb might survive into
my
fifties,
maybe my sixties.
It’s just a
bulb after all. What could it possibly
illuminate
at this point that could be considered
ground
breaking, or Earth shattering, or mildly
amusing. It’s
just a bulb.
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