You are suspended in the air by a single copper chord, dropped down directly in the center of the room. You are a prized possession of your owner, and he indeed has valid reason to take pride in you. You are beautiful- a captivating source of radiant light that casts shadows over the room. You are wonderfully intriguing to anyone who sees you, and especially so to those who take the time to appreciate you.
When someone new steps into the room, your owner throws his arm up at you and slaps on a painted grin, exclaiming, “This is my chandelier. It never sways, never dims, stays as steady as the stars on a clear summer night. It is lovely. It is beautiful.”
As he speaks and the others observe you, study you, you remain still- still as ‘the stars on a clear summer night’. You let your golden lining shining and your blue, teardrop crystals shimmer in the light that you yourself are radiating. You are lovely and beautiful and bright for the amount of time that is takes for your audience to look at you, love you, and then leave you.
As they stride away, you realize none of them ever stay. They follow your owner into another room where another prized possession is placed and when you find yourself alone, you’re still lovely and beautiful and steady, but you grow dim. Your sparkle dulls with your own fading light.
When your owner takes his guests upstairs and they carelessly forget that you are hanging from the very floorboards they are currently stomping on, you begin to sway, but no one sees. That can’t happen. If it did, your owner, the one who thinks you’re lovely and beautiful, might replace you with a light source that outshines your own. You wouldn’t let that happen…But what if you did? Would anyone still love you?
You shine brighter with a newfound determination. You sparkle and flicker and make the shadows dance over the walls, gracing them with your brilliant light show. You are beautiful, lovely, but the people above and around you are still careless. You’re shaking, no longer in control- spinning, but no one notices. The chord, the single copper chord that is holding you in your position snaps and gravity warmly welcomes you, even though you have defied it for so long.
You shatter on impact. Your crystals are crushed to mere dust and your light goes out and you’re still beautiful, but very broken. Your owner sees you as a mess to clean up and your audience, the ones who once marveled over you, are now ashamed of you… Don’t they understand that even the best have the ability to be broken?
I am sad for you. Your shadows have all dispersed, gone back into hiding, and you’re no longer suspended high in the air by your braided copper chord. You are on the cold wooden floor, being observed in a new way. You are unable to be fixed. You are no longer a prized position. You are a shameful heap of gold flaked dust, unable to give light and have no purpose now that you have fallen.
Why do I feel so sorry for you, though?
After all, you are simply a chandelier.