It is the only one who illuminates the dark. No one is there to stand in its radiant luminescence. One lonely light bulb with a long neck and flickering sparks. One who knows no darkness. One wavering flame abandoned when we grew up. From the window I can see it smolder, but the distance does not allow me to feel its comforting heat.
    Its glow is ignored. It sends waves of energy to an empty room. It flutters up and spreads its yellow gleam across the creaky floor like butter. This is how it speaks.
    We have forgotten its reason for being, it quivers in the corner, shedding light on what is nothing. Come back, come back, come back it cries out through its rays. It pleads.
    When I am too busy and too brave to come back to the light, when I am one among millions unafraid of the dark, then it is the flame burns out. When there is nothing left to illuminate in this room. One who stands unbeknownst to all. One who does not forget to remember the crowd that once gathered in its glow. One who no longer has a reason to be.