Night, sadness

The beauty of this night lies in three layers. The first is the silent majesty of the mountains: sleeping giants against the sky. The second is the city that shines beyond the mountains in dots and spectacles of light, so perfect you cannot believe it is not a scene from a movie. It hums with glowing life on this ghostly, ghostly night. The last layer is the stars. They are so detached they are from the mountains and the city you cannot believe they coexist with them. But here shine the stars: three stars in one line, and one star dipping underneath, from a constellation without a name.

The sadness of this night, too, lies in three layers. This sadness is delayed. It settles in a few hours after the shock of an unanswered prayer has all but passed. Roleplaying as regret, it comes as a headache: slow and sweet and numb. It is the sadness of knowing a city is intact with you gone; the sadness of knowing a community is okay not knowing where you are; the sadness of not being asked questions that you spent night after lonesome night rehearsing the answers to. It is the shock of never being able to go back. It is the significance of flying a thousand miles and spending a thousand dollars and having a thousand stories to tell, then looking straight into the eyes of people you once knew and watching those eyes light on your insignificance and turn away, minute after lonesome minute, day after lonesome day.

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