self-injury.net

I put out my hand and the dark falls through it

Her one drink had Cecelia giggling and talking and she was explaining that animals had souls too. Nobody challenged her opinion. It was possible, we knew. What we weren’t sure of was if we had any.

I was surprised, as always, at how easy the act of leaving was, and how good it felt. The world was suddenly rich with possibility.

And even if somebody else has it much worse, that doesn’t really change the fact that you have what you have.

You were my death:
you I could hold
while everything slipped from me.

what matters most is
how well you
walk through the
fire.

Food, fire, walks, dreams, cold, sleep, love, slowness, time, quiet, books, seasons – all these things, which are not really things, but moments of life – take on a different quality at night-time, where the moon reflects the light of the sun, and we have time to reflect what life is to us, knowing that it passes, and that every bit of it, in its change and its difference, is the here and now of what we have.

Life is too short to be all daylight. Night is not less; it’s more.