The night always seemed unapproachable.  

That if I put my hand in the air, it might swallow me whole,  

take away any existence at all.  

The night was the absence of life.  

  

I wept for the streets without any luminescent guidance,  

the planets that had no stars and therefore no reason to feel,  

and the children that had to sprint away from their deepest, darkest worries  

when the switch flipped “off.”  

  

Now, as I reach out once again  

into that discomposing void    

with a trembling, vacillating hand,  

I open my eyes, and warmth engulfs me.  

  

My long-lost hand returns with a light—  

a life that exists, a life that I can grasp.  

And it is not fear I feel shivering up my spine, but excitement,  

for I have a universe that is wholly mine to shine upon, and he... he is so beautiful. 

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