Last night, while I was writing and trying out some new things, the overhead light went out.
Never to bring again light into my life (pun intended).
This is where I don’t lament about my lost overhead projector because I had only bumped the switch while awkwardly crawling around the thing in an unusual hour.
The scare came from my having thought about the bulb burning out or a puff of smoke followed by a foul metal smell spewing out of that glorious machine’s vents some time before the accident.
I know it will happen. One day, this beautiful creature of wires and electric conversion will blink out of my life. The night will stop to remain frozen in time so long as I am alive to remember it.
Its warmth, I will realize, had been burning struggle to keep up with my strange process in the hours that contained our intimacies. It had been meant to be until I stumbled in late one night and landed a drink on the plate glass. crack.
I wonder if I will want to get another overhead, but I can’t be sure it would feel right. Will the light be the same? Will it be blocky and heavy, because Apollo’s archaic torso sews solar winds so strong gravity is under its sway (it’s sleek and fairly lite)?
Who in their right mind would acquire 2 overhead projectors, anyway?