It wasn't JUST a light bulb....

I came home again tonight into darkness. I tried to navigate my way through my pitch black garage, cursing myself for not changing that light bulb. I quickly tried to gather the things from my backseat before my automatic headlights turned off, taking all the light I had left around me. 

Frustrated, I ran into the kitchen and grabbed a new light bulb, determined not to let this happen to me for the 3^rd week in a row. I grabbed a stool and stood there, staring at the light bulb, wondering how in the hell I reached it the last time.

 

And then I remembered ……I didn’t.

You did it for me. 

You laughed at my pathetic cries of my own attempts and hugged me for all the height I lacked, before stepping up on the stool and quickly changing the lightbulb that had left me in darkness for months.

Before you were there, I came home every night, desperately trying to navigate the dark space. I tried to hurry before it swallowed me. I always tripped over things and panicked at night when I left things in my car. I didn’t like to stand in that darkness alone. 

Then one day you came in, stood on that stool, and quickly brought light back into that garage. You kissed me soundly as you stepped down and bathed us both in light. A light that finally made it safe to come home. A light that made life easier.

And I’m standing here, wondering how to put light back in this garage by myself; looking at this stool, trying to figure out how to create the height, I still very much lack, to unscrew the dead bulb in the ceiling.  

And I want to call you. Tell you how dark it is in here. How loud the quiet seems. How it still swallows me at night. I want to scream at this bulb for leaving me in darkness. 

 

But I don’t…

Instead, I stand up taller. Stretch higher. Keep my chin up. I nearly fall a few times, but after some time I stand firmer, stop wobbling.

 I have a standoff with this dead light bulb. This bulb that has left me in darkness. This bulb that has made every day so much harder. This fucking bulb that has torn me apart from the inside out. This bulb that you touched and put in place. The one you brought light to with a single touch. 

This bulb that is now dead and useless. 

Finally, I remove this deceased light bulb and replace it with a new one, bathing the garage in light, once again. I quietly walk the dead bulb to the trashcan and discard the last thing that held your light.

And I cry. 

Because it wasn’t just a light bulb.

It was my heart.

And while I do forgive you for killing it,
I’m still angry that you took my light.

But today...
I made my own.