Night Post, February 15, 2018

 

 

 

Don’t go out into that night.

My gosh, Susan, only down the street.  Light everywhere.  You know every house here.  What is wrong?

Just don’t go.  Not now.  Not tonight.

I won’t, of course.  But why?  Why not, I mean?

Because I am sad tonight, I guess.  I think about how fortunate we are here.

Yes.  That is true.  We are most fortunate.

The more I hear of others the more I wonder how we have gotten things so right.  Do you ever wonder?

Yes.  All the time, dear.  And more and more as the days pass.

I talk to my friends.  Do you talk to your friends?

Yes.  But not as much as you.  Why?

Because when they are most unguarded and the most truthful they betray an unhappiness in their depths.  Their lives are constant tension.  No.  Not constant.  It is like they have found some neutral gear to live in and there is no tension at all.  That’s all anyone ever sees of them.  A placid surface.  It is only when they allow themselves to think of moving – of the possibility of progress, of a goal, of happiness – then they know their sorrow.

I think it’s true.  Of my friends, too, I mean.  But they don’t speak of it.  Their happiness is not a gift but a duty or a job.

I don’t want you to go out into the night because in this moment I am somehow aware of our life together.  How lucky we are.  And how fragile it can be.  That nothing could ever replace it.  You know?

Yes.  I know.  And I am not going out.  I’ll stay right here and we will sit together and walk from room to room as we always do and we’ll be content, as if this life, this very day. was some extravagant gift given to us to grant the fondest wish of our childhood.  The dream we had, the wishes we made, before we knew of disappointment.

Yes.  That’s it, of course.  It is something we did not create, but can enjoy and marvel at.  Sit here.

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