I couldn’t explain why it was beautiful. Looking at it over the rim of my sunglasses, I tried not to show the twitchy salesman nearby exactly how much it struck me. I turned to look at him slightly, trying to look incredulous that he would waste my time. He shifted nervously. Satisfied, I turned back to my item, only faintly aware that I was possessive already.

The metallic sheen on the base was much brighter since I had removed my sunglasses. I indicated with a wave of my hand that the curtains should be closed, which soon left only it, basking singularly in my attention. The entire base seemed to be the color of honey, and my fingers, traveling faintly over it, found the texture to be unyielding, faintly etched to keep one from doing as I did. My hand went to its secret place, the heat almost making me draw back, but watching my hand dance behind the white lace of the cover.

It was one of the few times that I became aware of my love for a lamp: an ancient mask ineffectively hiding a fiery core. Like me.