The Borrowed Light

 

“You made my day.” 

“You always make me smile.”

 

They say it like a gift. 

And maybe it is. 

But they don’t know I’m starving.

 

I take their smiles, 

their laughter, 

their easy joy— 

and I press it into this hollow chest like a patch over a leak.

 

I am a vampire. 

Not of blood, 

but of light.

 

I sip their happiness like espresso shots, 

trying to feel something. 

Trying to remember what it means to be human.

To be seen. 

To be acknowledged. 

To exist.

 

Eight hours of borrowed light 

to keep me here 

in this world a little longer.