It's not every day a lightbulb tells you it wanted to be a spotlight on Broadway. Only in its soft flicker did it dare to dream, basking in the glamorous reflections of passersby who saw nothing more than a simple glow.
Listen closely tonight as the tattered rug confides its life on edges, corners cradling dust bunnies akin to forgotten memories. It sighs beneath footsteps yet treasuring whispers of old secrets more so than fullness of mundane conversations overhead.
Whispering windows once yearned for breathtaking skylines and, in their still presence, hoarded multitudes of faces, stories etched by ephemeral, foggy breaths.
The uncovered paranoia of heaters with love for ice, embracing the chill while their coils glower with jealousy underneath all cloak-dokey warmth.