And with that, night falls quickly, unapologetically, and the day ends without another word. A light snow turns into solid rain, pelting the ground with a discipline, as if to warn me against trying to venture outside to take another shot at turning a theory, a lead, into something warm; it would be fruitless. I'm returned instead to the gigantic, dark silhouette of this city, dotted by fragments of light, which have become so familiar that it takes many moments to be reminded that there is a reason for each and every one of them. So my mind is like the picture of this city outside my windows.
There are two questions remaining to be answered—or, that perhaps I know the answers to already but am too afraid to admit.
The first is wether or not my mind will escape the cycle of day or night.
The second is, if it does not, wether or not the daylight's passing will ever become easier to brave.
The first, who clung half-heartedly to something that had breath but was dead anyway, reminded me that companionship is a hard thing to consider being without.
The second, whose eyes welled up at a time not of her choosing, reminded me that some things about love are a lot simpler than they appear on the surface, and especially when a love had simply run its course.
These things which we are never to be able to fully understand, about which we behave so strangely for most of our days......
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