Lights, All Is Light

I'm sitting on my bed in my room, and it's glowing with a thousand small, flickering lights. It reminds me of the narrator in the book Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison. He lives underground, but his compartment is full of light. 1,369 lights, to be exact, "Light confirms my reality, gives birth to my form." Even though he recognized his social invisibility, he realized that, "Without light, I am not only invisible, but formless as well; and to be unaware of one's form is to live a death." Light illuminates and separates. It gives contour and embodiment to all things and sets them apart from each other, just as the lights in my room separate me from my books, my bed, my clothes. I am not them, I am me. I am a product of light.