I Am Alive and Light Enough

A soft glow illuminates the corner of my bedroom from that off-kilter, miss-matching lamp. Remember the encounter with Nancy the duck? Yeah, that stupid lamp. It just sits there, not doing much at all. And it’s all crooked and far too large to grace the nightside stand. In fact, the word grace should never be uttered in the same breath as this lamp. I can’t tell if I love it for its awkward nature, or hate it deeply for existing – there is no in-between. My spine creaks, my kidneys ache, and my socks roll down as I shift my body away, leaving the lamp forgotten. My eyes search for landing, but all is dark on the northwest wall. I close my eyes. Darkness. I open them. Still, darkness greets me all the same. I can’t help but think I am very much like this lamp, all wonky and taking up space and barely functioning. I let that sit. I am this lamp. Am I forgotten? And then the constant buzz of energy, of life, tickles at my cheek. I turn my face back toward it, and remember that as odd as I may be, I am alive and light enough. I am alive and light enough.