When I moved out at eighteen
You blessed me with a gift
Your favourite ceiling light
Shattered pieces of glass
That you glued back together
And placed on a porcelain lampstand
It now sits next to my bed at night
Its reflections remind me of you
How we used to play in the water
Soaking up the evening sun
When I look up at my ceiling
I see the surface of the ocean
But sometimes
The light becomes too warm
And I have to turn it off
So it doesn’t
Burn
Out
Published: Medium
The Authortoria 