‘The night lifted, leaving behind it a grayish light the colour of stagnant water. Soon there was only a tattered fragment of darkness, hanging in midair, the other side of the window. Fear caught my throat. The tattered fragment of darkness had a face. Looking at it, I understood, I understood the reason for my fear. The face was my own.’
(Elie Wiesel, Night)
Why is it so many find their own sadness intoxicating?
What seed is being watered in these feelings?
What are our eyes trying to say with their tears?
Some things just can’t be fixed this side of a much better place.
I have been offered perspective tonight.
I have been granted a glimpse of my own insignificance.
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