window pain

My room was beautiful and bright. There was light flooding everywhere and I could dance around in it for hours and hours, wearing the biggest smile my face would permit. I even sang, and I do not sing. But then he came and flipped the light switch. In one swift movement, with the casualty of one starting their car or sneezing, my room was plunged into darkness. Abruptly I stopped singing, dancing, and smiling. Blindly I stood there, letting my eyes adjust to the sudden dark. He was gone, along with the light and I was alone, as normal. For a while I sat there, numb and without sight.
A window.
I remembered I had a window. I stood up slowly and with child-like caution felt my way towards the small square of glass that was hidden behind a curtain. I pushed back the fabric and light came streaming onto my face. It wasn’t as bright as the overhead light, but it was pure and real and there was no one that could turn it off. From that moment on, I decided I was never closing my curtains again. I may not always have the buzzing glow of a fluorescent bulb looking down on me, but I will always have my light. And you can’t take it. Go ahead and come flying into my room with the breeze, I’ll welcome the extra light. But when you leave just as quickly as you came, I’ll still have light. And I won’t need yours.