Adjusted eyes are all we know. Darkness is a familiar presence, as ordinary as the backs of our hands. But only when you step into the blinding light, towards the burning sun, do you look back at that dank, dim cellar, and realize how dark it truly was?
We were not afraid of the unlit world back there. No, we were afraid of roof collapse, of death, of sickness. But up here, on the surface, the sky won't ever fall.
It rains and it does, but the only downpour there was the sewage from above, and even that was precious.
So when I look back - do I ever realize how dark it truly was? Yes, yes, I do. But you burned so long, so quiet. A silent flame in a dying hearth. And you must have wondered if I loved you back. I did. I did. I do.
(last line, '(I) burned so long so quiet you must have wondered if I loved you back. I did. I did. I do.' From - Annelyse Gelman, 'The Pillowcase'.
