You are like a lightbulb
the kind that burns out slowly
bright white light that fills the room
daily yellowing
the dust in the air becomes more visible
as the words on the page darken
even my own hands change in your glow
and you begin to fade
flickering now and then
reminding me you still exist
and you are still trying to stay here
but I know you won’t last long
as you pulse from dark to darker
sometimes you do not shine at all
and I fear you have truly gone
but you manage a subtle gleam
and I sit under your warmth, waiting
for the day your filament burns away
and the connection can no longer be made
the spark is no longer enough
and I will remove you from where I once hung you
above my head, above my hands, placed among stars
but I will not throw you out
for you once lit my room
you showed me the brilliance of color
that had always existed around me, but I could not see
and you allowed me to see myself
in reflection
so I will keep you
wrapped in silk and cotton, in a box lined with velvet
in the back of the bottom drawer
hidden in the empty space there
where my heart once was.