I can only go without you for so long.

You are the batteries that never die, in the flashlight that is always on hand. I push the switch and light floods the tunnel, more light than seems possible every time. And the ugly things scatter, the creepy crawly crunchy things that live here in the dark with me, that I let scare me more than they should. And for a few minutes I don't have to scrape my hands along the wall, feeling the way inch by inch. For a few minutes the obstacles threatening to bark my shins and make me stumble look as silly and as small as they really are. I stride right past them, catching up to where I'm supposed to be.

A few minutes is all I need, because I know how to make those minutes last - like batteries.