The lighthouse. It stood there sturdy, for years and years. Rusting over with each snowfall that pelted its soul so harshly, as pieces of itself fell into the icy waters below. Standing strong, though tattered and torn; because it had a purpose. The search light on guard for that electric energy that once lit up the heart of that little lighthouse, in the icy cold air of the north. Finding many glamorously adorned sailboats, the lighthouse ached for that ballsy little raft it had once seen come into its line of vision yet again; and so it stood strong in wait.
Finally , on one cold winter day, when the lighthouse thought it could no longer continue to hold itself up, a raft appeared in the distance. Torn apart and gutted, rotten and used up; it floated under the lighthouse in shame. The lighthouse did something it had never done before. The lighthouse lit up from all angles, illuminating the entire lake with its beaming joy and gratitude. It had never seen a more beautiful sight than this rotten, ragged raft. The raft rested briefly under the worn out lighthouse, until it was ready to patch itself up and move on with its journey. Eventually, on one crisp autumn day , the patched up raft floated away gracefully; continuing its miraculous journey. Shortly after , the lighthouse illuminated the lake for the very last time. Crumbling down with dignity, the ancient lighthouse finally collapsed. Each piece of it floating freely in the water, in pure and total;