There’s only one light on in the house now, an old cheap desk lamp that tries it’s best to look like it’s from an IKEA catalog. In it simmers an old halogen bulb that, at one point, gave off a clean bright glow. Now it can only manage to push out a few yellow rays.
In spite of my inevitable early rise tomorrow morning, I cant seem to find a way to convince myself to slink under the covers and turn it off. I’m really only impatient when patience bores me, this being one of those times. Simply waiting for sleep to come isn’t all that appealing at the moment. Not wanting to wast the moment, I sit here and write about the faux-modernistic lamp with the yellowing light sitting on my desk.
With no ambient interference, it’s easy to imagine the photons scattered out of the bulb, ricocheting off the walls and falling on my eyes. Like a radar pulse, if I were to turn it off the room would go dark, and I wouldn’t be able to tell that I need to find a better place to put my unopened PALCS computer. Turn it back on and a pulse of photons records the eyesore and promptly informs me.
You can almost perceive the light, visibility being granted to the room by a dim yellow halo. You can almost see that the nature of the universe, it’s inherent state, is invisibly black, and we need to hold up lights to see what’s around us.
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