light bulb

[lahyt buhlb]: an electric light.

I am sitting here in the dark, computer screen my only light to look at. The muffled sounds of my daughter snoring and my cat meowing. My cat sounds like a baby, for a big cat he sounds like a little girl.

While I am sitting here in the dark the theme of my day has been about speeches. I wrote a really long one once, even got a standing ovation of about 100 people – it was quite a rush.

That time of year has come around again, and defiantly like last year I refuse to go the yearly party at work. We can blame it on the fact that I am not manic, but above all; I have lost my inspiration to sound like a nice person anymore. So tonight for your reading pleasure this is what I would have said in front of 100 people on Friday night.

It is getting colder outside. The leaves have fallen and the air that is blown from out mouth looks like fog on the windshield of two teenage lovers. 

Darkness has encroached upon us and we walk in the glass house sounded by darkness as we do when we leave the evening of the same day. We are like animals locked away in a secret world no one knows about… and this is the tale of the warriors in blue part 2.

I use to be able to look around the room and see that I knew everyone that was here. The guy that waves his hand in the air when the elevator is on its way down, the woman that you would always see making everyone smile. The other woman who can never sit still, but everyone knows when she has a day off everything is going to go to hell. 

They are all still here. They live among the see of new faces that are bright eyed and do not have the smooth faces that are washed neatly on the see bottom. They are the cliff edges, the ones that have the jagged stones in their faces. 

They are the ones that know how it feels to wake up and come to work weary eyed through the door in their sneakers, or boots and have the sounds coming through the doors.

The guy on the ninth floor that is stressing out about talking to his lawyer at seven in the morning.

The kid on the eighth floor that is screaming to the other guy across the hall, forgetting that the night is over and the time to talk about who your lawyer or what you have done has ran out of  sand,

That is something new, or is it nothing new? The people working through the night keeping their eyes open are privy to being called a whore or being told that: 

“When they get out of there they are going to screw their mother,”

No they are the jagged rough edges that have seen the doors to the glass house open, or shortly after have seen the most of what our little world looks like, but they are what holds us all up on their mighty cliffs.

The new rocks don’t mind you have their place on the landscape of the world in Sollentuna. They are what keeps the thing moving forward. They climb out of their beds with excitement in their eyes with they fancy new sneakers and new boots and are ready to accept the challenges that the cliffs like us are to tired to handle anymore.

They are the ones that are willing to take the time to have the extra chat about whatever or the weather for that matter that perhaps the cliffs have now grown tired of. 

Earlier I traded my time of stomping on the floor in knee deep urine, food and water. I walked out the door from scared people that were facing their time to be sent behind closed doors without handles to being something more fitting for me:

A spy. 

I have become the one who is locked in a bunker on the fourth floor looking down on you from the cameras above. I know what you do when you feel uncomfortable in an elevator of people, or how you loose your patience when you have to wait for the elevator. 

You see, I have been there too. I know every corner of the place. I have watched people fall in love, fall out of love, walk in the door, walk out the door and even start their families behind those glass windows of those twelve floors. 

I used to literally know everyone, now it is “That blonde guy from that floor” and that makes me a bit sad. I miss the place that was like the bar on the television show where everyone knew who you are and I got to be the bartender.

Now I have seen a lot of people come and go in the past almost eight years since we cracked open the doors. I can tell you when the first inmate arrived how we were filled with anticipation just like you are when you wake up in the morning.

Remember this, love your cliffs and feel the urge not to leave us because I would actually like for you to introduce yourself to me in the elevator someday. I want to put a name to a face, I want the neighborhood bar on the television to be like where I work. 

I once told everyone I had locker 120 since 2011, I moved this month to a new one, 100 something. A kind of odd analogy to how things have changed and I do not even know where my things are being held anymore. 

If there is one positive thing about it all; my things are still here, they have not moved on, I just have become the cliff that knows nobody’s name. 

It took me an hour to write. It’s that easy.

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