and in that moment the wattage of the light bulbs died with one last flicker of energy, and the sun set like the days in autumn when it was pitch black at 5:30. I was still fog and he was still a light bulb, shining pretty for another girl. fog was yearning for a chance to ascend once again and become a cloud, her last hope in becoming meaningful. she wished to carry rain drops to heal droughts and move to display sunshine