The Humanist

The Humanist

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WpMetadataReadMatureOngoing1h 18m
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Thu, Oct 24, 2019
"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my lids and all is born again. (I think I made you up inside my head.) The stars go waltzing out in blue and red, And arbitrary blackness gallops in: I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane. (I think I made you up inside my head.) God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade: Exit seraphim and Satan's men: I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. I fancied you'd return the way you said, But I grow old and I forget your name. (I think I made you up inside my head.) I should have loved a thunderbird instead; At least when spring comes they roar back again. I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. (I think I made you up inside my head.)" -Sylvia Plath
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We knew something wasn't right from the moment we awoke. It was like something was missing - a part of our very souls - and we couldn't sense the deficiency, no matter how hard we tried. A hundred million eyes adjusted to the dark all at once, all surprised to be awakened so soon. We ran through our checklists of limbs and senses, drawing ourselves out of our dreams piece by piece. Some went back to sleep, unaware, unbothered, too tired to notice the difference. Some lay in bed, too anxious to stand until the light of dawn crept through their windows at last, and they were sure the monsters in their closets had gone back to sleep. Some leapt from their slumbers, more keenly aware than others that the missing pieces were important. But we didn't know. We couldn't have. Not until we found ourselves standing in the light and discovered: We no longer had shadows.

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