seshat's blog post - Light bulb factory

She works at the light bulb factory.
She stands at the end of the production line, picks up every light bulb, turns it around in her hands, lights it up in an electrical socket and deposits it back on the conveyor belt for packaging.
With each passing light bulb, she hopes. Because, once in a blue moon, she finds a light bulb that is different. Rather than throw it in the rejected bin, she slides it into her jacket and takes it home.
At home, she sits at the window, admiring the irregularities in the glass, imagining animals, plants, objects, words.
She believes the special light bulbs are declarations of love from the light bulb machine.
She lays every special light bulb in a small white box lined with tissue paper and writes the date of production on the box with a silver pen. Each box is gingerly placed on a shelf, neatly stacked in chronological order.
She doesn’t sleep at night. She looks at the shelves, believes the light bulb machine is whispering to her through the light bulbs in the boxes.

Today her place is empty at the conveyor belt. Today the light bulbs are inexplicably blue.