Singing To Shadows

As of now, the light bulb in my bathroom is dead.

A lightning storm came once upon a silent dark, blowing it off its heat and radiance.

At first, I've satisfied myself with showering in the downstairs' facilities, but I grew awkward of the much smaller and claustrophobic space it served.

Thus, a small table lamp came to the rescue. Served as a substitute for the fluorescence that once beamed over my barren soul.

Showers does this thing to me. It truly is mechanical. But the semblance of rain that it creates makes it all the more beautiful.

Semblances are all I have right now.

When I'm on that linoleum, with water drenched all over, my imagination wanders like intrepid travelers searching for a new world. A world only I can conjure.

And now, the small table lamp wedged between the window grilles.

It is now my Sirius.

Thank you, optimism.