Light

     Early evening is one of your favorite times of day, most of the time. Not tonight. You're not thinking about it tonight. Emotions have replaced thoughts, emotions that are idly reflected in the pastel bubbles floating across the screen of your laptop. Instead of shaking the mouse to clear them from your conscience, you look away, out the window, wishing the little orbs moved slower.
     Outside, a much larger orb is leaving your world for the western horizon. An endless pale grey shadow coats the inhabitants of you east-facing window in shades of dull surprise. The yellow glow of your lamp is the travesty of a replacement for the brilliance of the nearly-departed star.
     As the sun finally escapes the suffocating Los Angeles sky, your computer attempts to fall asleep. It's as tired as you are of staring at the corners of maple lakes, the place where eyelashes meet. The PC doesn't understand why you exhaust your energy trying to describe that miniscule, unfathomable place where radiance is born. You see the sunrise every morning; Isn't that enough? it asks silently.
Street lights flicker on, casting mediocre spotlights on asphalt as dark and unforgiving as the night itself. They too are attempting to replace the sun. It crosses your mind that such a feat it impossible, but the idea is meaningless to you, and it lazily drifts away.
     Nighttime seeps in through the open window. Your lamp seems even more ridiculous than it had a moment ago, dimmer and more pathetic. You know you are like the lamp; useful in the absence of the sun, but worthless next to its full glory.
     You are not saddened by this comparison. Slightly mortified, yes, but nothing more. It's too late to entertain defiance or irritation, and fatigue effortlessly drowns any semblance of pride you had in the warmth of this winter's late morning. All you can do is keep the lamp flickering until the sun rises again.