“She felt empty. She felt the unscaleable wall surrounding her… Maybe she felt comfortable there because she, the person, always lived like that all the time: in an abandoned room with blocked-out windows, the only light pouring in through holes in the roof.” – John Green, Paper Towns, p. 199
She felt empty. A glass with a hole in the bottom. Never to be filled.
But oh, did she try.
She tried everything to fill that void.
And she still ended up empty.
In an abandoned room with blocked-out windows.
The only light pouring in through holes in the roof.
The only light.
There is light.
She is empty and alone. In a darkened room – darkened by herself. Darkened by other people.
But there is that light.
The walls are high and tough. Unscaleable.
But that light… it gets in anyway.
I am not somebody who does well with light when it is supposed to be dark. Light plays tricks on my mind. Even my closed eyes seem to notice a light that shouldn’t be there. It keeps me awake.
But my tantrums don’t stop the lights from being there. You can’t extinguish the sun… and it takes a lot of effort to snuff a fire that is meant to be burning. A fire that wants to be burning.
The holes in the roof… the lights… they’re going to be there. If I cannot scale the wall, I cannot block them. I cannot cover them. I can hide myself from them… but once I poke my head out, the lights will still be there. And they won’t have gone anywhere.
And honestly… that is what I hope for. That is what I pray for. I pray for lights that aren’t going to disappear – because being in the dark alone is not fun. Even if it is where I put myself so often.
When I hide myself from the lights… when I try to make them go away, it is a relief when they are still there. It is a relief when I cannot stop them from being there, no matter what I do.
I need the lights when I am stuck in the darkness. I need them to find my way out. I need them to show me where I am, but also where I could go next.
Light belongs in the darkness.
My darkness is grateful for the lights in my life.